Just Like a Pill
by StrangePenguin
Summary: 18th CHAPTER UP. Just as things are starting to look better a new disaster for Jesse is just around the corner. And Mark and Steve have to face some problems as well.
1. I'm lying here on the floor

Chapter 1

Hey folks, I am back. After six months in the US I'm back home. I still can't speak English (I took a college prep course there and they told me I could speak it, but then again they told that everybody who put up the effort of reading "The Catcher in the Rye", regardless of who understood it and who didn't). But hey, I'm in love with Iowa, Colorado, California and Minnesota! Well, I never wanted to write fanfiction again…but you get very creative when you are locked up in a plane for more than 10 hours. Bad for you. And here we go again...

Disclaimer: The characters of Diagnosis: Murder don't belong to me, but to CBS and Viacom. I don't intend to make any money with the story because then I'd be starving. The title of the story was the title of a "Pink" song, so it's not mine either. At least I can say I wrote it myself...

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It was 11 o'clock at night in Los Angeles which didn't necessarily mean it was dark. Millions of advertisements, car headlights and street lamps made the city at the Pacific Ocean shine through the blackness that surrounded it. Looking at it from the Hollywood Hills, the City of Angels looked like a well-organized system which was sure of its own magic and fascination it filled people with, a glamorous glare whose attraction was similar to the one of a spider's net. If one had stood at the beach of Malibu instead, the view would have been a whole lot different: a series of light bulbs constructed to fit the end of the land and the beginning of the water, so that the fakeness of the human-made and the pureness of the eternal melted into each other, forming a strange modern kind of beauty.

In the parking lot of the Community General Hospital both of those views didn't matter a lot. There was nothing glamorous or post-modern or especially eye-catching about it; it was just a hospital parking lot like it could have been found anywhere in the United States, just as much as the Community General was hospital that could have been found any place in America or somewhere else on this planet.

The CGH parking lot was enlightened by a whole bunch of plain light bulbs of which some burned all night through, while other just reacted to motions in a certain range around them. All of them were shielded against potential attackers by steal cages and didn't add much friendliness to the dead flair of the lot. Obviously its constructors hadn't put emphasis on coziness when building it. Maybe they had been foreseeing that half of the people walking through this would be loaded with different problems than those concerning the lack of design and the other half would most likely be too tired to even notice.

The person who exit the door this very moment maybe didn't feel anything like the last mentioned or maybe both at the same time, who knew. The car keys banging expectantly between his fingers, he started for the walk to his car, always going close to the left line of cars as he wanted to make sure any car driving by wouldn't have trouble passing him as much as he was carefully watching for anyone pulling out in front of him.

The next second it was dark. Totally dark. The lights had shut off with a ghostly fizzing sound as though suddenly deprived of power. The man sighed and shook his head, though no one was there who would have cared. It was just an acknowledgement to himself that Los Angeles and a sufficient electricity system was definitely a contradiction in terms. But at the same time he grinned wistfully as he felt himself reminded of the blessings of technical progress and pressed a button on the small black remote which was dangling from his key ring. Seconds later the internal lamps of a car in the near distance were switched on by an invisible hand and he could hear the dull sound of the central lock undoing itself. Feeling how he had just tricked fate that obviously was intending to screw up the rest of his Friday night he smiled. Now he knew how the guy in "Knight Rider" must have felt every time Kid wished him a good morning in his sonic voice.

Although it was still so dark in the parking lot that he could hardly see where he set his own feet, the weak light from his car now filled his path with enough reluctant brightness that he had no doubt he would make it to his vehicle safely without tripping.

He had erred. However, he didn't even come close to tripping. The car, which suddenly sped up behind him, didn't leave him enough time for that. The sound of loudly squealing tires was hardly to dismiss, but as the man turned around and disbelievingly blinked into the blinding headlights every attempt of diving out of the way was basically bound to fail. The car never even slowed down.

No one was there to hear either the muffled sound when his body hit the metal or the sound when it lifelessly fell onto the pavement.

A few seconds later the automatic lock in his car reacted and –since no one had switched the car on until now- locked itself again. The last working light in the parking lot went off and left nothing but complete darkness.

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Inside the CGH Dr. Mark Sloan entered the doctor's lounge with a yawn, met by an equally tired, yet even more bored expression on the face of his partner in crime. "Okay, I'm ready, let's go home!" he suggested very eagerly, to say the least.

Steve Sloan narrowed his eyes and scanned his father who was still standing in the door frame.

"What?"

"Okay", Steve went off to put Mark on the wrong, meaning receiving, end of what the doctor knew would develop into a rather reproachful speech, "here comes the 1 Million Dollar question: Are you sure?"

Mark nodded, grinning wryly. "Yes, son, I am."

"Really? Because the last time you said so, you were off to the front desk to sign out which has taken you exactly 1 hour, 23 minutes and 57 seconds…but who's counting…", Steve retorted, sounding extremely annoyed.

The older man sunk his head like a little boy who'd just broken his father's watch. "I know, I'm sorry. I got called to the OR 'cause they needed some help there and I…"

"…you just couldn't bring yourself to say 'no'", his son finished the sentence for him and shook his head with a mix of anger and concern. "Dad, you're not the only doctor in this hospital and –and don't get this the wrong way- not the youngest either. You've been here basically for the past 24 hours. Amanda has already gone, God, even Jesse went home 20 minutes ago, I never thought I'd ever get to see that in my life!"

Mark held up his hands against all those good points overwhelming him. "I get the hint, Steve, you're in a bad mood. But give me a break, please, I feel like the last man standing."

"Maybe because you are", Steve mumbled under a last angry sigh, and then he finally let it go. "Good movie by the way, we haven't watched that one in ages. How about we get some pop corn, beer and the movie on the way home…" he had gotten up from his seat and exited the lounge, passing his father who only seemed half-conscious.

"Fine with me…" Mark murmured wearily and joined Steve on the walk to the elevator, "as long as we finally get out of here!"

"Hey, not my fault!" Steve snapped cockily.

Mark waved it away. "Yeah, whatever. But the two of us are gonna have some serious talk about that comment on my age!"

Steve rolled his eyes in mock frustration and pressed the button. "Yes, dad."

Both father and son couldn't help but giggle as they entered the elevator. They were like best friends. And truly they were like partners in crime. Crime solving, to put it better. Steve was Lieutenant at the LAPD and Mark was medical consultant of the police. Together the two had solved more murder cases than Quincy during his best days. But right now, none of them was interested in that fact. They just wanted to go home and at 11.30 at night they felt they needed a chance to come down from their slowly fading caffeine highs and just relax.

As they took the elevator to the parking lot, they met Hank the hospital janitor on his way down. Hank was aimed with tons of tools on his belt and if it hadn't been for his green uniform, he would have looked like a smaller, skinnier and older version of Tim Taylor.

"Hey, doc, Steve…how's it going?" Hank greeted friendly.

"No complains, and you Hank?" Mark asked back, smiling at the good-natured janitor.

Hank swayed his head. "Ya know, doc, places to go, people to see…" he scrutinized the pair of pliers in his hand and winked, "…stuff to fix."

Mark and Steve both chuckled and prepared to leave for the parking lot when also Hank got ready. "Be careful in the lot, guys…" he warned, "I'm just on my way there, someone told me the power shut off totally. You will have to wait or need a flashlight to find your cars…"

"That's weird…why would only the electricity on the parking lot shut off and not the rest of the hospital?"

"Oh, two different power circles. Maybe it's the fuses. Wouldn't be the first time that something blew them out for no reason whatsoever. I'll get it fixed" Hank assured them.

They exited the elevator and stepped into the last floor where they opened the door to the parking lot. That was lying, indeed, in absolute darkness.

"We're never gonna make it to our cars…" Steve groaned, looking into the spooky blackness.

Mark laughed out and reached into his pocket. "Always be prepared for any occasion, son", he reached into his pocket and pulled out two of those pocket flashlights he normally used for examining his patients. "What did they teach you guys at the police academy?"

Steve blushed slightly and kept silent while Hank put one wrinkled hand on his shoulder. "I tell ya, Steve, never underestimate the genius of your old man…it's a hard learned lesson, I know."

The tall Lieutenant shrugged. "You get used to it."

Hank laughed out and switched on his own flashlight to find the lock of the fuse box that was right next to the door. "Okay, let's see what's wrong with you…" He opened the box and pointed the beam of his flashlight into it, then started cussing. "Holy shit! Someone screwed them out!" he exclaimed.

Looking over his shoulder, Mark and Steve frowned at the damage. The fuses had been screwed out and lay tidily at the bottom of the box. "Why would anybody do something like that?" Steve asked.

"Some bastard got angry at his hospital bill or so…you wouldn't believe what kind of pointless stuff those people do all the time", Hank answered, snorting moodily. Then he all of sudden got very practical. "Well, I'll have to screw those back in. Might take a little while…you guys go and have a good night."

"Or what's left of it…" added Steve, feeling a smack from his dad on his arm.

"Have a good night, too, Hank."

They waved a good bye, switched on their little flashlights and started heading towards their cars or where they assumed their cars to be. The blackness soaked the damp air that was filled with the slight smell of gasoline. "I think I found mine!" Steve announced happily and pointed his flashlight at a black Ford that really could have been his, but in the instant when the ray of light struck the form of the car Steve grimaced and Mark pulled up his brows. "I seriously hope it's not."

A huge scratch in the painting ran all over the back side of that car trunk, accompanied by a dent that gave the impression someone had been trying to fold the trunk in the middle like a paper ship. Steve let the beam of light wander from the damaged part of the car down to the license plate and took a deep breath. "I'm afraid it is."

Both father and son stared for a second at the license plate, just to make sure their eyes weren't fooling them, when Mark's attention got drawn at something else. "What's this?"

In the flickering light something on Steve's trunk was glossing moistly.

"Don't know, it might be oil…" Steve suggested, while Mark simply stretched out his hand and pulled it back with a little bit of the indefinable liquid sticking to his finger tips.

The doctor pointed his flashlight at his hand and at the same time his eyes grew big with shock and he held his hand up to his nose and smelled, just to make sure. "I think this is blood, Steve!"

"Blood?!" Steve looked closely at his father's hand and for he was a homicide detective it didn't take him long to realize that his dad was right. "God…what happened here?"

Mark shook his head. "I don't know, but it may help if we get a bigger flashlight. My car's over there, I think I have a better one in my trunk." With that Mark rushed off, now really curious to know what they were dealing with. After a few yards, however, he felt his feet hitting some obstacle and since he had been in quite hurry he couldn't regain his balance. With a small cry of surprise Mark stumbled to the ground.

Steve frowned. "Dad?" he yelled into the darkness, "are you alright?"

"Yeah, I just stumbled over…something…" Mark pushed himself up from the floor and reached behind himself to find out what had been in his way. He stretched out his arm into the black and got a hold on something lying on the floor. It took Mark a few seconds to be sure that this didn't only _feel_ like the limp form of a human hand. "Steve! Come over here, but be careful."

Steve didn't understand the world anymore. "What's going on?" He asked getting his legs in motion slowly.

"The thing I stumbled over was a human being. Point your flashlight on the floor, I can't see anything…"

"You stumbled over what?!" Steve repeated, feeling the urge to hurry to his father's side, but not wanting to step on anything…or anybody. "Is he alive?"

Mark had carefully found his way up the person's arm and had his hand now on what felt like a dislocated shoulder. He moved his hand further up to where he assumed the collarbones to be and finally got a hold on the neck where he detected a weak rapid pulse. "Yes, he is…follow my voice and give me some light over here, my flashlight broke when I fell" he ordered his son in a serious voice. God knew what had happened to this guy or how long he'd been lying here, hardly breathing and probably in horrible pain. And on top of it all Mark had tripped over him. The older doctor felt terribly sorry, though he knew that the bigger part of this mess was certainly not his fault.

Steve was finally next to him and pointed his flashlight on the body. The person laid crookedly on his side, unconscious, the only visible part of his face covered with blood that ran from a bad cut on his forehead. "Let me have a look at this…" Mark took the flashlight from Steve to have a better view at the man's head.

As careful as he could he padded the hurt person's shoulder and turned the body over a little bit, so he would be able to see more. At that second the older doctor gasped and almost felt like fainting himself as he finally recognized the young man's face.

From Steve who was still behind him he couldn't hear anything but a nauseous choking.

"Oh gosh, Jess!"


	2. Where you left me

Chapter 2

Hey ya'll!! Thank you all so much for the encouraging reviews and this wonderful feed-back. It feels so great to be back, I can't believe it. The descriptive parts at the beginning of chapter 1 were actually some of my favorites to write because I've been lucky enough to see it all myself last month. Maybe I'd better stop writing fanfic and start working on travel guides. ;) Anyway, I'll let go off my view on a really cool city and make the story the priority again. Please don't lose your enthusiasm about this story though, it's what makes this lousy summer (meteorologically speaking) a lot better. Please R&R and thanks again, it really means a lot to me that you like my work despite of typos and grammatical ingenuity a la I'm-German-and-not-afraid-to-use-it. (I have a spell check program now, that's pretty cool…it just told me that "program" is written with one "m" and no "e" at the end…you gotta love it.)

Disclaimer: I don't know if I really have to say this, but I'll make the first chapter foolproof for future reference: _Knight Rider_ and _Last Man Standing_ are a series and a movie that are both not mine, I'm sure that shocks you. Actually it's a pity because if it were, they would have made me the best paid infant on earth. Tough luck, now I guess I might have to finish school. This chapter is media reference free, I believe, except for DM of course.

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Mark felt a tremor running through the hand that was still on his patient's shoulder. But now this person wasn't just a wounded man who needed his medical attention anymore. All of sudden this man had a real face under the red coat of fresh blood; he had a personality that Mark was unable to ignore. Yet, no matter how much he knew that this _was_ Jesse, a part of his brain refused to believe it. This part still told him that this was just someone –anyone- who needed help more than desperately; that friendship, fatherly concern wasn't in the question here right now. At any other time Mark would have considered this thought as cruel and would've argued that a person was always a person who consisted of more than just the physical and therefore needed more than just the mending of the physical, but at this very moment the older doctor knew that this kind of indifference towards his friend was the only thing in him left that enabled him to actually _do_ something.

"When did he leave?" he asked very matter-of-factly, way too much for Steve to answer –to even comprehend- the question. He had hardly heard his father's voice because it was drowned by those screaming thoughts in his head, exactly the thoughts that Mark strictly forbid himself. Five minutes ago his biggest concern had been a stupid movie that wasn't _that_ good after all. Five minutes ago he had had been snapping a his father for having him wait one and a half hours in the lounge that was nice and warm and supplied him with a coffee machine anyway. Half an hour ago he had wished a tired, other than that, however, seemingly happy and relaxed Jesse a good night. There had been nothing odd about all this up until five minutes ago. And then all of sudden there was the darkness in the lot and that dent in his car and the blood on his trunk. 'Jesus…', the Lieutenant thought and felt his stomach turn around when he realized whose blood was sticking to his car. He almost couldn't stand keeping the flashlight pointed at his friend's face and the unsteadiness of its rays made it obvious that his hands were shaking. This was a man he had known for ages, a man who had been so full of life just 30 minutes ago and now…

"Steve!" Mark yelled over his shoulder after receiving no answer for a considerable amount of time. Time of which he knew he didn't have it.

"What?" That was Steve's first reaction ever since he had seen Jesse's hurt body on the pavement. Up until then he would have sworn he hadn't even taken a breath.

"When did Jesse leave?" Mark repeated, loudly, almost unfriendly towards his son. He felt sorry for it, but the weight that seemed to pull all of his nerves into an ultimate state of alert didn't allow him to be polite.

"Oh…I don't know…half an hour ago…maybe" Steve replied, and even though he was tensed, the helplessness in his son's voice almost broke Mark Sloan's heart.

"That means he must have been lying here for at least fifteen minutes" Mark thought out loud, feeling a shudder down his spine. He tried hard not to imagine what that could mean, suffocated the musings about the impact that fifteen minutes could have. That maybe those fifteen minutes would turn out to be exactly the time they had been too late. Mark felt incredibly sick, which was even increased by the blinding light that surrounded him. What first felt to both father and son of like a threat of fainting turned out to be the parking lot bulbs. Hank had done a quick job with those fuses.

"Hank!" Mark screamed while taking of his jacket and putting it gently under Jesse's head.

Seconds later the old janitor came sprinting down through the now enlightened lines of cars. "Wow, Doc! You're makin' noise as though you wanted to wake up the dead…" he panted when he had reached them and stopped abruptly. As everyone who worked at the hospital he knew Jesse of course, maybe he had even said good bye to the young doctor this very night. "Holy…"

"Yeah, Hank, it's okay, everything's under control!" Mark said soothingly and had never wished so much for a lie to become reality. "We need a stretcher and some help down here right now, run upstairs and tell them we have the victim of an accident here, pedestrian against car, understood?"

Hank nodded and turned around on his heels while Mark again turned to his friend and first had to take a deep breath and swallow his hospital canteen dinner back into his stomach. Jesse's face was all bloody which stood in a nasty contrast to his skin being completely white and his lips blue. His arms and hands were covered with bruises and his left shoulder and right wrist were visibly dislocated. Mostly Mark worried about Jesse's breathing which was shallow and displayed a vehement injury to the chest. The presence of internal bleedings was undeniable, though their seriousness and their number were still to show.

While his father was busy to make sure Jesse's state was more or less stable, Steve –in an attempt to distract his eyes from this overwhelming sight- glanced around at the surroundings and found himself looking bewildered at a ten-yard trace of tire rubber…that only started way behind the spot were Jesse lay on the floor. It only caught Steve's attention for a second and he shouldn't be reminded of it until later because he saw something that made him retch. Blood wasn't only on his trunk, but the little red sprinkles were all over the floor and other cars, marking all to clearly what had happened here in exactly what order…an image that Steve wasn't yearning to get into his head, but now that he had it, it seemed to be stuck there, like a nightmare that seamlessly connected itself with the reality he had to witness right now, helplessly and powerlessly and only left to thank God for the astonishing miracle that Jesse wasn't…

…dead. In the very second that the car hit him Jesse had been sure that he was dead; this time there was no way out, this time no one would be there in time to prevent anything from happening. When he felt his shoulder crashing hard into the windshield of the car, he –more out of a reflex than out of thoughtfulness- had thrown his arms over his head to protect, not really believing that it'd to any good, though.

That'd been it. No one would ever know what he had known for quite some time and even longer he'd been guessing it. Why hadn't he told anyone about his assumptions? Was it his fear of being wrong? Or more likely his fear of being right? True, he hadn't been certain enough to put his hand into the fire for it, but he'd been more than convinced of it to at least _say_ something. So why hadn't he? He'd been afraid, that was the truth. Afraid of making a mistake whether he was right or not, afraid of setting off a chain of domino stones which were just waiting to fall upon him. The irony about it all was that now that he felt the cold metal drilling into his side he was totally sure that he had been right all along the way. He had scared somebody. And this somebody was standing some much with his back against the wall that he was able to commit a murder.

Therefore, Jesse was more than surprised to actually regain something that felt like consciousness and not so much like the end of a tunnel. He wasn't able to open his eyes, but he could hear voices. Voices that were muffled, but that he meant to recognize. The young doctor himself was amazed how entirely clear he was in his head. Even though his senses were numb and the connection to the rest of his body was just enough to assure him that it was still there, he had no problem getting himself together. He knew exactly where he was, what had happened and why it had happened and if you had asked him to name all parts of the heart with their Latin medical terms, he had no doubt he could do it. In the back his head Jesse even knew that this total awareness was the result of a severe state of shock he was in. His body reacted to unbearable pain and heart-wrenching angst by depriving his brain of the necessary information it needed to work it out. He also knew that his body couldn't keep up this barrier forever. At some point he would have lost to much blood one way or the other and his heart would stop. He was determined not to let that happen until it was absolutely inevitable, he didn't want to die as long as he could come up with enough strength and will to defend himself against it, yet he had no idea how long would be.

He listened to the voices that seemed to come from all sides, resounding in his ears with a deafening echo. But he thought he knew these voices and he was almost relieved to hear them. Not only because he still had to tell them something, but simply because he didn't feel so alone anymore. And even though he could hardly believe the words of that one voice which kept telling him that everything would be fine as long he just didn't give up, it just felt good to have somebody who cared.

However, there was still something Jesse had to tell Mark and Steve, something that was important and couldn't wait until because there might be no later. He just couldn't let them get away with it, not after all this.

"Mark?"

Mark, who had just been counting Jesse's heart beats again and noticed –not without feeling his own heart skipping a beat- the rate was decreasing rapidly, thought he was going crazy and starting to hear voices. No one was there who could possible have been saying his name.

"Mark?"

Steve, who had been having the same thoughts as his father, stared excitedly at Jesse's lips that were really moving. Mark gasped in surprise. He hadn't imagined it. "Jess? Can you hear me?"

"Mark, I…" Jesse anxiously realized that he could hardly talk. He mouth was dry; his voice was raspy and resounded in his head like a broken hi-fi system, sometimes in an over-loud tune, then again so very quietly that he didn't even know if he was still speaking. It became clear to him that this would probably take up the last bit of reserves that his body could come up with.

"Jesse, don't worry, okay? Please don't talk…" Mark said as he hoped calmingly, though he almost felt as though he was begging.

The younger man ignored the heart-felt advice from his friend. He knew that he shouldn't talk and if he had been the one in charge he would probably have said the same, but Mark had to know it.

"Mark, I…" he started over again and really tried to speak as clearly as possible, but the weird thing was the words wouldn't come out of his mouth. He had the whole story in his head where it made perfect sense from the beginning to the end. But his tongue seemed paralyzed; his vocal cords seemed to be about to rip. Frantically he thought of something he could tell his mentor quickly, something that would make sense before he ran out of time. "Mark…my coat…in the pocket…" he coughed rather than saying it.

The older man frowned and scanned his friend quickly, never letting go of the good wrist where he'd been keeping track of the young doctor's pulse. Jesse wasn't wearing a jacket or a coat, just a normal cotton shirt, which was soaked with sweat and stained with blood, and a pair of jeans. But Mark knew better than to argue with him right now. "Okay, Jess, I understood, now will you stop talking, please!" He would have said anything to make Jesse stop babbling and spare him his strength for maintaining a heart rhythm and blood pressure that, if it sunk any further, would have been far too close to zero.

Steve threw his father a look and, even though he didn't say a word, his ice-blue eyes were communicating well enough. "What's he talking about?" they asked

"I have no idea, we'll take care of that later…" Mark's eyes replied and then quickly drifted back to the center of their worries, an all of sudden moaning and shivering Jesse.

The young man had just said those last words when his blood started pounding in his ears and his lungs freed themselves of oxygen, however, refusing to let any or only very little back in. Jesse felt a pressure on his chest that increased with every second he struggled to breathe, as though someone was slowly letting a truck down on his chest. His legs and arms instantly started to burn and sting. He groaned. His head that had been all clear and alert a few seconds ago was now the numb part while the feeling in his body returned with horrible quickness.

Recognizing the symptoms of someone lapsing from a psychological shock into a really serious post-trauma shock, Mark tried to prevent to the worst. "Jesse! Stay with me, son, don't pass out on me, okay? Help is on the way, just hang on…" Jesse, however, had already lost consciousness again.

In that second, the trauma team of the CGH emergency room appeared next to them with a stretcher and armed with the necessary supplies to treat the victim of a car accident, but with hardly enough emotional coolness to treat this certain one. The two interns, the doctor in charge and a whole bunch of nurses were unable to move when they found the fragile, badly hurt person on the floor was someone they knew all too well. Their boss.

"Dr Travis?!", the normally so smooth and easy-going Dr Higgins shrieked almost hysterically, needing some time to get himself together. Then all of sudden he was in his doctor-mode, acting more rationally than anyone expected him to, considering that the man his team heaved on the stretcher on his command was someone he had worked with countless times.

"Heart rate at 60 and slowing down, blood pressure low, dislocated wrist and shoulder, broken ribs, probable organ contusions and most likely internal bleedings…", Mark informed his colleague as he and Steve were running next to the ER team towards the exit and felt that with every inch they were nearing the door to the elevator, he couldn't keep up this secure wall of professionalism anymore.

Higgins nodded. "Okay, I'll take it over from here. I'm gonna do my best to get him stable enough for the OR, but as far as it looks like now…" The doors of the elevator sled open and the stretcher was wheeled into it.

"I will assist you…", Mark said more firmly than he felt.

"You kiddin' me?"

Mark frowned angrily. "No, I'm not. I'm a doctor, I can…"

"I wouldn't care if you are Santa Claus or Clark Kent, I'm not the kind of doctor who risks the life of a patient by doing something like this and I know that you are not either. Or would you force me to cut open my best friend?"

"Dad, he has a point, please let him do his work…", Mark felt the pad of Steve's hand on his shoulder and suddenly felt ashamed of himself. Higgins was right, no good doctor would do anything like that. Everybody in this elevator knew that and even though he was way older than most people in here and felt as though aged by 20 years within the past 15 minutes on top of it, Mark suddenly had the feeling that he was younger and more immature than anyone else here. They had to do what was best for Jesse and at the moment that was certainly not him, he saw the point of it all right.

So when doors of the elevator opened again after a short ride that seemed like decades, he simply stepped out and watched the stretcher wheeled away, not even daring to move.

"Come on, dad, let's go to the lounge…" Steve mumbled quietly and pushed his father towards the room that, not even an hour ago, both of them didn't have to be told twice to get away from it.

…………………………………….

Hope you liked it. Next chapter will be up asap.


	3. I think I took too much

Chapter 3

Oh God, your reviews were so awesome and I'm really sorry for the wait! Do you know that: when you come to the point where you have to write a chapter that you've never thought about writing (because then it might have been a reason to drop the whole story line again)? Okay, I do that all the time. I need new plane tickets. ;) It took me longer to write this and personally I think it's kinda wobbly, if writing can be like that. Anyways, I guess it doesn't get any better than that, so I might as well post it. I hope you like it, though, and please tell me what you think. It's so great to see that you liked it this far and I seriously hope, you'll like the rest of it. (And there is point for me using the song, just in case you were wondering...) Please R&R&enjoy (not necessarily in that order)

All disclaimers apply.(unfortunately)

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The phone started ringing into the darkness of the old house and persistently kept going, not minding the ignorance it was met with. The young woman sighed and turned around to throw her digital alarm clock a glance and groaned at the sight of the numbers. It was just about midnight, she hadn't even slept an hour, but the phone didn't seem to care. There it was right next to her on the bedside table, making those perpetually horrifying noises. She turned around in the bed and covered her ears with those warm and irresistibly soft sheets.

She didn't want to know who it was. She didn't even want to know that she was in possession of a phone right now and followed the theory that something would stop existing as long as you just pretended really hard that it didn't exist. It surely wasn't important. At worst it would be someone from work. Or maybe someone was calling the wrong number. Or it was all a bad dream. Yeah, coming to think about it, that was the best possibility. She was simply so over-worked that she _dreamed_ of people calling her.

And indeed the ringing stopped, but -just as she was about ready to cry out a prayer of gratitude to the Lord- the reason for it walked sleepily into her darkened bedroom, wearing his beloved dinosaur pajamas and rubbing his eyes as he handed the other portable phone. (What the heck had she been thinking when buying it?)

"Mom?" asked CJ with a confusedly questioning tone in his cute little voice, obviously assuming that his mother had become the victim of a rather early case of age-caused deafness.

"Yeah?" Amanda said remorsefully, taking the receiver.

"It's uncle Steve…" her son informed her with a yawn, while he was already busy crawling into her bed.

"Oh, thanks hon…" Amanda answered, almost glad that it was _only_ Steve who maybe knew her well enough to not call the child care center when at midnight her six-year-old son answered the phone.

Then again her inner sense for sarcasm got the better part of her. Of course, it was Steve. Who else would call at such an unchristian hour, demanding to speak a hard-working single mother of two children? Did that man ever sleep? And in the very likely case he didn't, did he ever waste a thought about that other people may be wanting to? She hated him. Well, maybe she didn't hate him; she just really really disliked him right now in the same way she didn't like anybody who had the nerves to call her up at this time and expect her to jump right out of bed happily, especially since Steve Sloan wasn't exactly a famously declared morning-person himself. Of course she knew she was being unfair. Steve was one of her best friends and she didn't mind his presence at all, just the fact that more often than not his calls were associated with work. Amanda had learned to suppress the urge in her to snap at those calls with phrases like "Someone'd better be dead!" as they had come up in her when she had still been relatively new to the job for you had to take into consideration that a call from Steve in her case almost always meant someone was dead.

That was the sour side of being a pathologist. The better part of the job description was that her patients were the loveliest you could have because they didn't complain about their bills or the lousy treatment they got or the food that was being served to them.

"Steve…What's up?", she finally answered the phone, hoping to sound as neutral as possible. After all homicides weren't his fault. Just his job, which sometimes maybe wasn't that much of a difference, in their job field, however, it was a crucial one.

She noticed that his voice was different than usually. Steve Sloan had the voice of a man who was aware of the impression he made on people, which was quite a lasting one. At way over six foot height and with a well-trained body, along with a stoic expression on his striking face his looks were enough to give him the natural authority he needed for his job and even though he certainly wasn't the stereotype "NYPD Blue" cop who threw chairs through one-way mirrors on regular basis, he didn't mind potential suspects thinking that he was. He always spoke fast and sharp, giving the image that he found every point of discussion amusing in a subtly sarcastic way that could give you the creeps if you didn't know him.

But even before he started speaking in a strangely softened tone, Amanda's female intuition had told her something was wrong when she heard him pausing and taking a deep breath. Steve never took a deep breath. He belonged to the people who could –if he'd ever feel like it- rattle down the whole Declaration of Independence without ever setting a pause. But now it was there, this little awkward silence between them that scared her.

CJ, who had snuggled next to her body into the sheets, could probably feel her muscles tensing all of sudden, but luckily he was still blessed with enough childish naivety to not worry about it or interpret it as a sign of discomfort which it was. She listened to Steve's calm, almost lethargic voice and couldn't bring herself utter more than a few disconnected words of mere disbelief. This more and more seemed like a nightmare and the more she forced herself to listen to him the more she was certain it was. She was in bed and one of her wonderful sons was tucked in next to her while the other one was peacefully asleep in his own bed and there surely had to be some evil part of her brain, a silly mood of her subconscious, that was playing her a terrible joke.

When the line went dead because Steve had ended the call, however, Amanda had swung her legs over the edge of the bed and she could vaguely remember mumbling something about being there as fast as she could.

CJ was now half awake again, looking at her from the depth of her pillow. "What's wrong?", he asked with natural curiosity.

Amanda shook her head, hoping to lie better than she felt like doing it right now. "Nothing, honey. That was the hospital, they need me there. I'm gonna call granny and ask if she can look after you", she babbled, feeling guilty, even though she knew she was doing the right thing. There was no point in scaring a little boy with something that was…yeah, what was it? It wasn't a dream, obviously. It was bitter reality, but how could she tell him that…" It's really important…" she added with some kind of weary despair.

The little boy rolled his eyes in innocent sweetness. "Then why didn't you answer the phone in the first place?"

Good point. Frankly Amanda couldn't remember.

………………………

"I called Amanda, she said she was gonna come as soon as…" Steve trailed off, seeing no point in talking to what was obviously just himself. His father, though right next to him on a chair, didn't appear to hear him or see him or take any notice of a coexisting organism in the room at all.

Mark just kept staring at the opposite wall in silence, giving away not much of his inner state than a big crease of concern emerging on his forehead. It wasn't a very obvious sign to other people, but Steve knew it and, though he would have never admitted it, it frightened him. He knew this state of calmness that was untypical for his dad; this was a still gesture of desperate helplessness. He had seen it before, this whole "I should have known" – expression on his father's face that, ironically, always floated up on the occasion when there had been no way of knowing, no way of preventing, no way of protecting anyone.

It had been just the same when Carol had left them and the last days before Katherine had died. As he recollected those events Steve winced inwardly, only thinking of their outcome. Ever since he could remember this face was connected automatically with hopelessness, though it certainly wasn't his dad's intention to make him feel that way. But Steve couldn't help it, the more he watched Mark the more he felt he was on the verge of throwing the towel for Jesse himself, and he hated himself for that.

He was his best friend, he knew him better than that and he so desperately wanted to change his dad's way of behavior right now that became unbearable for him. Steve wanted his father to tell him everything was going to be okay because he wasn't able to believe himself anymore, he just wanted to hear those words from the person he loved and respected the most in this entire world. Even if they'd been a lie he would have taken them just to have something to hang onto rather than sitting there with nothing, nothing to do and nothing to say and nothing to hope for.

Steve didn't know what to say to his dad. He wasn't the doctor here, he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound like a meaningless phrase out of his mouth. That was the difference between his father and him, and between Jesse and him, the fact that made him a better cop than doctor. He wasn't a stomach person, he wouldn't say things regardless of how emotionally involved –how weak- they would make him look like. He had learned to suppress his impulses, knowing that in his job an impulse could cost him his life.

"Dad?", he asked carefully, although he didn't really know what he should name as the cause of this question, if he should ever receive an answer.

"Yeah?", Mark's head jerked up.

His son blushed and all of sudden found his shoes very interesting. "Nothing…I'm sorry."

Mark looked around slowly, for the first time actually seeing his son which he only came to realize now. He hadn't really looked at Steve once since they'd said their good-byes to Hank.

Steve didn't look too good. He was pale and his eyes were hazy, the piercing blue covered by a layer of worried sickness. Sitting there in the big ugly armchair in the lounge, his son looked so much smaller and younger than he was. For a second Mark could hardly resist the urge to pull him into his arms and tell him that there was nothing to worry about, but then again he couldn't because he knew Steve would have fought against the hug, and his own senses were fighting those upcoming plain lies in him. There _was_ something to worry about, the older doctor knew it and he knew that Steve knew it.

He knew he shouldn't think something like that, that he should banish the fear from his mind and give hope a chance and it wasn't that he didn't, but none of those really got an advantage in the game. Dr Higgins was a capable doctor, no less skilled than Jesse and if it'd been Jesse operating someone, Mark would have happily assured the fearing-the-worst relatives that their friend or son or brother was in more than the best hands. But deep down he knew it never was that easy.

You couldn't just trust _somebody_ with the life of someone you loved, no matter how many people in scrubs told you that there was no better person for the job. That was the reason Mark hadn't even wasted a thought about staying outside the trauma room. He'd had the feeling that Jesse needed him. But the truth was that Higgins probably didn't do anything different than Mark would have done and Jesse _was_ in the best hands.

However, Mark felt so useless at this moment, but only now when he looked at his son he noticed that they most likely shared that feeling. They both couldn't do anything but to sit there and stare at each other while they were waiting.

Mark took a deep breath. "I am sorry, son. I shouldn't have acted like that…I just wanna do something…"

Steve nodded. "Me too…"

"I can't stand to sit here anymore…"

"Me too…"

"And I…", the older doctor paused, nagging his bottom lip. He didn't dare to speak out what he was suspecting, something in him was defending itself against this utterly disgusting thought.

Nevertheless, Steve eyes were glossing in sharp alert, catching the underlying tone in his father's voice that told him they were both thinking the same. "You don't believe it was an accident."

The acute bafflement on Mark's face at how his son had seen right through him lost the fight for the older doctor's features against some kind of sad acknowledgement. "You're right…", Mark sighed. "It's just a feeling, maybe it's paranoia. I don't know. It makes me sick only thinking about it, but you're right, I don't think it was an accident. I just…"

"You think what?!" Both men's heads whirled around to throw Amanda a nervous look. The young pathologist stood in the doorway of the lounge, her whole appearance tensed as though she'd been struck by a lightening and the negative electricity was still running through her body.

"Amanda", suddenly agitated Mark jumped to his feet and rushed towards the young woman to embrace her in a hug which she returned with as much gratitude as confusion in her gestures.

When they released each other, she first gave Mark, then Steve a tearful look, obviously hardly being able to keep herself from freaking out. "Now would somebody please tell me what's going on? Steve only said that Jesse…God, what happened?", she almost was hysterical, yet trying to remain at least on the edge of being fairly reasonable.

"Amanda, it's okay, sit down!", Mark said calming, guiding her to a chair, while Steve was watching in silent awe. There it was again, this mode he'd been missing about his dad for the past hours. This being a doctor, this total control.

The older man sat down next to his young colleague and leaned forward to create something like privacy between them that wouldn't let any intruders in. It was -given the circumstances that there was no one except for Steve in the room and no one else was overhearing them- kind of silly, but Mark couldn't help it, it was almost like a reflex. "Steve and I found Jesse the parking lot after he was hit by car…he…he looked pretty bad."

Amanda stared at them wide-eyed. "But how…I mean, how did that happen? How bad is it, Mark?"

Mark shook his head and mumbled an "I don't know", thus answering both of her questions. It took him some time until he could finally make up his mind about whether to really answer. "We only found him after he'd been lying there for quite some time…" As he said that he had to force himself with all his might not to miss her eyes as the pain reflected in them gave a direct image of his own soul. Mark slumped back in his chair heavily, being repressed by the all of sudden vivid recollection of what had already crossed his mind earlier. "Amanda", he spoke shuddered, deeply scared of his own words, "we might have been too late."

"But you weren't…" The shocked silence between them was broken by a soft voice coming from the door again.

Dr Higgins, whose arrival they'd been waiting for all night, had managed to sneak in on them when their attention had been awarded to something else than the hallway outside for only a few seconds. The young man with the brown hair wandered through the room towards their little group, slightly massaging his back with his own hand since it hurt from standing uprightly and ultimately concentrated in the OR for several hours.

The past hours had obviously taken their toll on him; Mark couldn't help but notice that the young doctor looked shaken, hardly better than any of them. Something else had caught Steve's sight instead. A huge blood stain covered basically the whole front of Higgins' shirt and seemed to glare at them like a poster whose symbolic value no one was eager to see and yet you couldn't close your eyes from it.

Dr Higgins wore a weak, indefinable smile around his lips as he got seated on a chair and took a deep breath –involuntarily Amanda felt herself quivering.

"He is alive and stable", he offered as the most important part of information and earned relieved, yet somewhat strained sighs as his audience was expecting more detailed –and along with that more unpleasant- descriptions of what had been happening behind the doors of trauma room and OR.

"We relocated his wrist and shoulder, took care of the damage that was done to his bones, joints and muscles…nothing serious, nothing that time wouldn't heal. By some miracle there wasn't any injury to his spine. The part of his body which got the main hit is his chest. He broke quite a few ribs…and then I broke some more when he crashed on the way from the ER upstairs and we had to start a CPR…", the young man added remorsefully.

Despite of the horror of the news that Jesse's heart had come to a still stand in procedure of the treatment, Mark watched him respectfully and all of sudden felt for the first time really warm around this new doctor who had always seemed kind of smug to him. It took guts to perform a CPR and it took even more guts to openly admit its horrifying nature; Mark knew this from his own medical training. Sending a normally lethal amount of wattage through someone's heart with a defibrillator was hard to bear, but it was nothing compared to do a CPR when you could virtually _feel_ and _hear_ each bone cracking under the pressure of your hand palms and the only thing that kept you going was that the knowledge it was really and definitely the only way to rescue that life.

"His chest was a mess…", this clear sentiment tore Mark out of his musings. "The splinters from his ribs damaged a lot of ventricles and we spent hours just getting the bleeding under control. He has contusions on his liver and spleen and there were some severe injuries to his lung, but we were still in time to prevent it from collapsing. So much for the medical part…"

Higgins looked up the three of them, earnestly. "I don't have to tell you how critical Jesse's condition is. We put him in the ICU and are keeping a good eye on him, at the moment that's all we can do, I'm afraid. It's not in my range of knowledge if he will be able to put up with all this…", he looked to the floor for a second, collecting his thoughts. Then he continued slowly: "All I can say about him is that he is great doctor and he doesn't seem like the type who gives up on himself…"

After a second of silence that filled the air between them, Mark was the first one to lose the invisible nails which seemed to have pinned him to his chair. He got up and offered young Dr Higgins a hand. "Thank you…", he said as whole-heartedly as he could and only between Higgins and him it was clear that this wasn't only about rescuing Jesse's life by operating him, but also by acting maturely enough to keep Mark away from him.

The other one took the hand and smiled dejectedly. "No problem. I'm sorry I couldn't do more…"

"You have nothing to feel sorry about."

Higgins gave him a knowing look. "Neither do you. He was damn lucky that you were there."

"I guess so", muttered Mark, kind of absent-minded, and then "When can we see him?"

"One of you can come with me right now. But you all look like you could need some rest…why don't you try to get some sleep?"

His suggestion was met by three glares from his opposites, indicating that was easier said than done.

Steve didn't feel like he could ever sleep again in his life. This was just not right. And slowly, very slowly, he brain started piecing it together. There had been something wrong about this from the very beginning, ever since head seen Jesse's blood covered face on the floor in the lot, ever since he'd seen those screwed-out fuses and then those rubber traces. And instantly it was clear, even ludicrously obvious. Steve now had the feeling that his dad's feeling hadn't just been a feeling. "This is not right", he thought out loud.

"I know how you must be feeling. There is no way in predicting a tragedy like that and when it happens…", Higgins said coherently, but the Lieutenant all of sudden interrupted aggressively.

"No, that wasn't what I meant!", Steve answered, now really furious. "The lights, those break traces…it all makes sense now." His eyes were flickering, he had jumped up from his chair and stood now in the middle of the room, met by three pairs of eyes that looked at him as though he was nuts.

"What are you talking about?", even Mark didn't really understand what his son was implying there.

"If it had been accident, the tire traces would start before the point where the victim lies. Not behind it. You get me, you see the person you're about to hit, you panic, you slam into the brakes to prevent the worst, don't you?" Steve had turned very matter-of-factly within a second, though not really matching his outraged manner.

"Are you saying that somebody did that to Jesse on purpose?", Amanda asked in disbelief.

"Think about it: How many people accelerate their car in a completely dark parking lot and don't break when they see someone ahead of them, but very abruptly afterwards only to drive away and leave the victim alone?", Steve asked rhetorically and glanced from one gasping face to the next one where the grasping of what he was saying slowly settled in and left them in quite a bit of a shock. There was only one plausible answer to this question and none of them did like it.

"Steve's right. This looks like an attempt of murder…" Mark stated finally, his raspy voice coming out of his throat like a stifled scream.


	4. I'm crying here, what have you done

Chapter 4

Hello again. Sorry, this has been done for a few days, I just didn't have the time to post it. I hope you still like this story and don't get to impatient with me. Thank you again for all that great feed-back, please keep it coming. It's really a lot of fun writing again after such a long time of abstinence and I'm so glad that u like it. I just love writing English! So thanks for the support.

……………………

Amanda sat at her desk in the pathology lab and tried to award her paper work some kind of at least half-hearted attention, but she couldn't, not really. She'd just ended a call to her mom, asking her to pick up both CJ and Dion from school and make them something to eat and her mother had kindly agreed to it. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the emotions that whelmed up in her every second she didn't try to concentrate on some dead people or it was the coffee that she'd been inhaling rather than drinking ever since last night, but Amanda couldn't keep herself from drifting into endless reminiscences about her friends and family, how each of them filled their spot in her life and how she couldn't imagine living one single day of life without them again.

Thinking back of her days as a foster child when sometimes days had been so lonely that she'd been doubting that there were people for her out there at all, she almost couldn't believe that she'd grown to be part of this wonderful little circle and even less she could believe how much she tended to take it for granted while –as last night showed- it actually wasn't. Mark, Steve, Jesse, her mom, her sons, they all possessed a part of her somehow and right now it felt like a part was missing or numb.

Amanda was woken up by a knock on the open door where Mark had been standing for quite a while, grasping the frame for a little bit of support. She focused on his appearance slowly, needing some time to realize he was there. "Oh hey…", she said weakly and scanned his exhausted features with concern.

"Hey…may I come in?" he asked quietly.

"Since when are you asking…" she joked wearily and he chuckled just as superficially. None of them really felt like pretending their humor wasn't suffering under the circumstances.

Mark shuffled into the room; however he didn't take her offer to get himself a chair. "Thanks, but no…I've been sitting for the whole night, if I sat down now, I wouldn't be able to get up again."

She looked at his blood-shot eyes and his over-visible five o'clock shadow. "You need sleep, Mark…" and as he was about to reply something, she held up her hand sternly. "And don't try to make me believe you did sleep, trust me, I know these chairs, it's physically impossible to sleep on them."

The older doctor looked at her dumb-founded, then grinned guiltily. "You're right, I didn't close one single eye. I just couldn't, I had…"

"…too much going around in your head?", she finished for him.

He nodded. "Yeah…this whole accident..."

Amanda's looked at him with a frown. "Yeah, I know. It just seems so hard to believe that someone would want to hurt Jesse. Our Jesse, I mean, that's just not right."

"Hmhm…" That was all she got.

"Mark, what's going on?" she asked determinedly, her look piercing him all of sudden. This wasn't normal. Just as much as Steve didn't respond with deep breaths Mark Sloan didn't respond with 'hmhm's

At the haunted expression on his face she was certain she was right. "Mark…" she said carefully, waving her hands in front of his eyes from behind her desk.

He ignored it and lifted his brows, then narrowed his eyes. "I can't shake off the feeling he tried to tell me something…"

"Who, Jesse?", she said, sounding as though she was doubting his sanity.

Mark had feared that reaction, not the least because he slightly doubted it himself. But this had been bothering him the whole night he'd been sitting on Jesse's bedside, gazing perpetually at his young friend's face under the breathing mask. It still seemed unreal, but then again Mark had grown to assume it had to feel that way. It hadn't seemed real to see Katherine in one of those beds or Steve when he'd been shot, those images just didn't have a claim of being real in the mind of a father or husband. Though he knew it was never going to happen, Mark still expected Jesse to sit up every second, pull the breathing mask from his mouth and nose and beam this bright boyish smile at his mentor who'd liked this whole appearance of his student from the very first second he'd seen it.

Just like you didn't have to read a whole book to know whether you liked it or not, Mark's sense for personalities was good enough to give him quite a realistic image of who people were and if he'd get along with them by first impression. There was so much that a hand-shake, a smile and a simple sentence could tell you if you weren't too inexperienced.

Jesse had always been kind of clumsy where other med students were smooth, easy-going where others were stiff, enthusiastic where others were cool, loud and straight forward where the others were silent and shy. However, all that gave him an authority -or maybe it was just an authenticity- as a doctor that some of his older colleagues could only dream of.

And yet, there was one question penetrating Mark's mind over and over again: Who would want to harm this man? He didn't know how someone could feel threatened by Jesse or even hate him. Some people of low self-confidence might feel intimidated by him in the way they felt intimidated by anyone who displayed a certain amount of certainness about himself, but then again that wasn't really a reason to murder somebody, was it?

"Who would do something like this to you, Jess? Please, you have to wake up and tell us, whoever it was, you can't give him the pleasure of getting away with this!" In his despair to find an answer to all this Mark had all of sudden spoken up in the loneliness of the ICU room, hearing his own voice being sucked up by the bare walls which seemed eager to be soaked by any bit of life they could catch since they hardly ever got to witness any.

And suddenly, feeling himself again caught in the emptiness, the helplessness, Mark's mind had switched back into the past, back to the parking lot where he had put up all efforts to keep Jesse from talking. Jesse had been talking to him, it hadn't made a lot of sense, but when it came down to it, it fit right into this whole scheme of things that didn't make a lot of sense. And maybe, Mark thought, if you put all those pieces together like the fragments of a broken vase it would give them a whole image of something that described the natural way of cause and effect.

Out of an impulse Mark had reached out to Jesse's limp hand as if to demonstrate this unexpected flash through his mind had connected the both of them again, united them in one way of thinking, the kind of connection you felt only with people you knew really well, the kind of unity you felt when you and someone else would say something at the same time with unintended, but perfect synchronization and you would look at each other astonished the instant you said it and smile a knowing smile.

_"You already did tell me, didn't you, son? You told me and I just didn't understand it…"_

Snapping back into the dead presence of the pathology lab, Mark insecurely swayed his head and shifted the weight of his body from his left foot to the right and back. "I don't know…I think he tried to tell me something and I just didn't understand it…"

Amanda twisted her face in a mix of curiosity and confusion. "You've lost me, Mark. Where, when, I mean, how…?"

To steady his tired body Mark leaned against the side of her desk, rubbing one hand along his unshaven chin. "When Steve and I found him in the parking lot, Jesse regained consciousness for a little while when I was trying to examine him. He was saying something and I told him to stop because he could hardly breathe the way it was. A second later he lapsed into a post-trauma shock and I didn't waste a minute of time thinking about what he said anymore…"

Amanda was torn between her medical experience and the empathy she felt for him. She didn't blame him for wanting to find a reason behind all this, but she sensed that he was forgetting medical facts over this. "Mark", she started carefully, "He'd just been hit by a car. He probably was already in a state of shock when you found him and…you're a doctor, I don't have to tell you that people suffering from a shock are hardly ever coherent as in they don't even realize what's happening to them."

Mark nodded, but she recognized the reluctance of this movement. It was the sign of Mark Sloan having a feeling against all better arguments, a feeling that more often than not -she had to admit- didn't fool him. "I hear what you're saying, but…"

"…you have this feeling…", she couldn't decide whether to sound frustrated or excited. However, she knew there was more to this and she wanted to hear him out.

Again he nodded, but this time he had obviously decided to widen his explanations. "I first thought the same, that's why I forgot about it. He didn't seem to make any sense, I believed he was just rambling. But…I don't think he did. It's weird, you know, I have seen shock victims before…Jesse just didn't seem incoherent to me. He seemed to know exactly where he was and what was happening, he recognized my voice before I even said something to him. I just had the feeling that he was mentally there…"

Amanda had to give that to Mark: what he said was intriguing. It didn't seem completely illogical anymore, in some strange way she understood what he meant. She knew the medical facts, however, she trusted his feeling. Mark knew Jesse better than most people did, he could judge him by relying on this certain instinct. What persuaded her was that she had learned some things couldn't be explained in facts you would find in a book. She knew this kind of instinct Mark had regarding Steve and Jesse; she had it, too, for CJ and Dion.

"So what did he say?", she asked finally, the question almost burning a hole into her tongue.

Mark waved his head and grimaced slightly, indicating that he didn't like telling her because he didn't really know. He had heard the words all right, but the way they were they just added to her theory of incoherence. "He said something about his coat…his pocket…"

"Did you look into it?"

He shrugged. "That's the thing, he wasn't wearing a coat. Just a shirt and jeans…and we arrived here at the same time the night before and he wasn't wearing a coat or a jacket either…I know this sounds funny, but…I know him, Amanda, and he didn't make the impression that he didn't know what he was talking about…"

She gave him a sympathetic look. "Mark, I know you really want to help him and get the people who did this. But maybe you're putting too much emphasis on this…who knows; maybe you should just wait what Steve finds out…"

He sighed. "Maybe you're right…"

She got up from her chair to stand in front him and put one of her hands gently on his sacked shoulders. "Look, Mark, why don't you go home to sleep for a while and I'm gonna go to sit with Jesse. These papers can wait…" and when he didn't make an attempt to get into motion, she added: "This is hard on all of us. But we won't help Jesse if we don't look after ourselves a little bit."

He smiled sadly and looked at her. She was so right, of course, she was. "Okay", he mumbled, hardly suffocating a yawn, "but let me get some coffee first, otherwise I won't make it the beach house to sleep." Instantly he started rummaging through his pockets, then gave her a sheepish look. "Amanda?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you have some change for me by any chance?"

Amanda laughed shortly and let her hands wander towards her pockets where, however, they grabbed into the emptiness. Only now she realized she was wearing scrubs, of course, and those didn't have pockets to keep any change in. She blushed and then turned to go back to her chair. "Wait a second, there must be some in the pocket of my lab coat…", she said encouragingly, then trailing off as she listened to her own voice and gave Mark a puzzled look which she got right back.

The two doctors stared at each other and then at Amanda's white lab coat that was hanging innocently over the back lean of her chair. Those jackets were so common in their job that they hardly ever regarded them anymore as clothes. They were like a second skin, something they put on and instantly it became a part of them, their sign of a power and a recognizable authority that no diploma could give them.

Mark had forgotten everything about his coffee and Amanda everything about the change as they both murmured in unison: _"The lab coat…"_


	5. I thought it would be fun

Chapter 5

Hey ya! I'm sorry, the laziness of the holiday mood seriously took its toll on me. Once I could get myself to actually do something, I mostly ended up studying for my driving theory test. I thank you so much for the amount of awesome reviews and feed-back. I'm trying to get my long sentences under control, sorry for the inconveniences caused by them. I blame the German education system for it because they have us read books with sentences that are half a page long and then tell us: "Now _that's_ good literature!" I'm doing my best, but you will have to have patience with me. :) Please keep reviewing and telling me what you think. I want to learn, so that someday I can keep up with some of the great writers (fanfic or not) who are already out there.

Disclaimer: The cited song lyrics are from "Under Attack" (1982), sung and written by the Swedish pop group ABBA. Sherlock Holmes is the main character from a series of novels by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. "The Sixth Sense" was a movie starring Bruce Willis and some kid whose name I forgot. I will stop being that gimmicky, I promise. lol

Well, enjoy!!!

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Mark pushed open the door to the locker room and Amanda followed him in. Seconds later they stood in front of a locker on which a name tag declared 'Dr Travis' and to their great surprise found it was locked. From what they knew, hardly anybody made the effort to lock theirs when going home, because all that was usually left in there was the coat and a fresh set of working clothes. Nothing that anybody would take any pleasure in stealing it.

What Mark first considered being a matter of seconds, turned out to take quite some time. Confidently he'd grabbed the lock and tried the numbers of Jesse's birthday in tons of different combinations, becoming more impatient with every attempt that failed. Amanda rolled up her eyes and bent down next to him, got a hold on the lock, turned it four times and smiled as it clicked open.

Mark, who'd been watching her fingers, frowned. "That surely wasn't his birthday."

She shook her head. "The numbers on his license plate."

"I'm impressed. How did you know?"

She shrugged. "To a certain comforting extent the men of my generation are just all the same. And whether you believe it or not, I used to be married to one..."

He smiled a thin smile. "Where did the good old times go?"

"In this case: Down the engines."

They looked at each other and chuckled, allowing themselves to forget why they were here for a second, before they got up from the floor again and opened the door of Jesse's locker.

Indeed there wasn't anything in there they hadn't expected to find. Just the usual set of scrubs, a clean pair of jeans and a shirt and an almost ancient copy of the Los Angeles Times. And, of course, the white lab coat they saw him wearing almost every single day, so that its significance had almost been swallowed by the nature of their routine.

Mark's hands were fast to dig into the big square pockets of the coat, and while there was a total of nothing in the left, he stroke metaphorical oil in the right one. With a serious expression on his face Mark pulled his hand back out and scrutinized his discovery. It was a little orange bottle of pills like they kept millions of them around the hospital.

The older man let his hand wander into the pocket of his own shirt and got out his reading glasses to see what it said on the label. "Aspirin", he read out loud and threw Amanda a look to gather her reaction that was nothing but a perplex wheezing.

"Painkillers?", she muttered bemusedly, obviously not having the slightest idea how to evaluate the meaning of this. "Now what's that supposed to mean?...Mark? Mark?"

When she looked up to him it became clear to her he hadn't heard a single word she'd said.

.......................................

_Jesse stared out of the window in the lounge, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his lab coat. He tried to focus on the sky outside between the skyscrapers, but the problem that was bothering him was of far more earthly consistence. He felt his fingers cramping around the little bottle of pills. He was clutching his hand so tightly around that little orange container that sometimes he thought it'd burst into splinters within his fingers._

"_Good afternoon..." greeted Mark cheerily from the door and slightly raised his brows when he saw the young man flinch._

_Startled, Jesse closed his eyes for a second before he turned to face Mark. He didn't know what made him feel so caught. He knew that Mark was clever and had a way in seeing right through people, but his x-ray look certainly couldn't see through the textile of lab coats. However, he didn't trust himself. He wasn't sure if he could fool this man...and he wasn't sure whether he wanted to._

_But the funny feeling in his stomach area reminded Jesse that he had to. As much as he wanted to pull out this bottle of pills, put it on the table and play with open cards, it was impossible. _

_He turned around and forced himself to smile. "Hey Mark, how are you?"_

_The older doctor scanned the young man quickly. It didn't take him long to notice that Jesse seemed to be beside himself. The man in front of him _looked_ like Jesse Travis. With blue eyes, blonde tousled hair, dressed in scrubs and white coat this man was recognizably the head of the ER at the Community General. And yet again, he wasn't. The young doctor wore a glint of a weird detachedness on his features that inharmoniously clouded his usual sparkle of youth and invulnerability. This gaze was beyond weariness, beyond doubt, beyond remorsefulness, although Mark lacked the ability to determine what it was. "I'm okay...but I'd be really interested in your condition...", he realized the interrogating tune in his voice which he hoped to over-act with a whole-hearted smile. _

_But just like anyone who had something to hide, Jesse had a sensibility for spotting traps. Mark's sentiment was enough to send a tremor of panic through the young man's body. In some funny way he felt reminded of his final oral exam at med school when he had been standing in front of a committee of high-ranked professors who seemed to know every inch of the fear he was going through. No matter how much you tried to hide it, they would find your weak side and attack it, whether it was pharmacology or bacteriology. They knew your fears, like dogs they would smell it on your fingers and your clothes._

_Jesse's biggest fear in the real world outside the hospital had always been to be exposed as a liar and he avoided it by mostly sticking to the truth. He had grown up with enough people who didn't measure truth very exactly and had always regarded their behavior as inappropriately patronizing. That wasn't the way he wanted to treat anybody and especially with Mark every pore of his body formed a resistance to anything less but the truth. _

"_I'm okay, Mark, I just didn't sleep very well...", he mumbled weakly, gnawing on his lips which felt dry. This time he had to fight against this fear. Now he was the frightened student again. The student who would seek for a desperate answer to yet another question about the certain medical field he had missed to review in his notes. The student who would rather bite off his tongue than lose it in front of this wall of respectability and responsibility. The student who suffocated the upcoming total blackout and the urge to yell: Stop, please, I don't know it, I would love to give you the answer you want to hear, but I just don't know it!_

_Mark tried to dig his view deeper into Jesse's expressions and the more he did, he believed that his colleague was backing away from him, though physically Jesse hadn't moved an inch. This face, Mark thought, was beyond tiredness. It held the emptiness of a decision-making process in a tragic conflict. As a tutor for med students, Mark knew this look._

_He had seen it before in the pale faces of first year students, when they were asked a question and they had obviously never known of its existence in the catalogue of things they were to know. There was a second of shock when the message reached the brain and responded with total error; then some nervous stammering to fill the time of consideration while weighing out the possibility of openly admitting that they had no clue against the opportunity of guessing blindly and crossing their fingers. _

_What hit Mark the hardest in the instant he recognized this expression on his friend's features, was that he seemed to be the reason for it. In this very moment he was the personalization of Jesse's fear, asking questions the young man couldn't –or didn't want to- answer. _

_Worriedly he took a step forward. "Are you sure everything's okay?", he asked, knowing that it wasn't._

_Jesse didn't know where to look and nodded. "Yeah...", he responded inaudibly. _

_Mark shrugged unenthusiastically. "Alright...well...maybe you should lie down for a bit..." He had decided that as long as Jesse wouldn't talk, he might as well play the game._

"_No...", the young man refused hastily and then, obviously ashamed of his eruption, shook his head gently. _

"_Okay...Jess, I'm gonna go...if you need me, I'm in my office...", Mark turned on his heels with exaggerated slowness, hoping to God that it would take the effect it was supposed to._

'Under attack, I'm being taken, about to crack, defenses breaking...'_, Jesse heard the song in the back of his head and for the first time understood why something like that could be a top ten hit. It matched situations like these perfectly. "Mark, wait...", he cried out hoarsely and his older colleague turned in the doorway to throw him a beaming glance of good-natured superiority. _

"_Can we...can we talk?", the young man asked sheepishly._

_Without saying a word, Mark took a chair and sat down. That was the second Jesse all of sudden felt strangely relieved. _

_A few minutes later Jesse clung to a mug of coffee and though it was hot and burned on the inside of his hands, it still felt better than the bottle of pills that was safely stuffed into his lab coat pocket. _

_Mark took a sip from his own coffee and scanned the other man friendly. "So?", he opened the conversation._

_Jesse took a second to collect his thoughts and put them into a line. "It's..." He didn't really know where to start. "Have you ever...had a feeling that something was wrong, though you had absolutely no reason to believe something was wrong?"_

"_Yeah, I would say I had..." Mark chuckled slightly at all the youthful idealism that hid within that question. _

"_So what did you do?"_

_The older man laughed bewilderedly. "Jess, what's the matter? Why don't you just tell me?"_

"_I can't. I'm sorry, Mark, but I really can't", Jesse's eyes filled with dissatisfaction at his only option to speak in a hypothesis. "I just think that someone is in serious trouble."_

"_Then why don't you ask that person about it?" The older man inquired, but at the look he earned he began to understand._

"_What am I supposed to say?! _'I know everything's been as always lately, but just to take a wild guess, I'd say you're in trouble'_?" As he realized who had just gotten a dose of his sarcasm, Jesse let out a deep sigh and lowered his head into his hands. "I'm sorry, Mark, you didn't deserve this, I'm just...I don't know what to do."_

_Mark shook his head. "It's okay, Jess, no hard feelings about it..."_

"_I can't prove anything; I can't even say why I'm assuming it. But I just..."_

"_You have a feeling and you can't shake it off", Mark finished for him and for a second saw how a sparkle flickered through Jesse's doubtful look. They were talking the same language again. _

_The young doctor shook his head in distress. He ran his fingers through his hair and then covered his eyes with same hand. When he looked at Mark again, he gave the impression of seriously doubting his own sane mind. "It doesn't even make sense. It's lacking every bit of logic..."_

_Mark folded his hands over his chest and gave Jesse a warm smile. "You know", he started off with a twinkle in his eyes, "Sherlock Holmes once said: _'If one has eliminated every logical explanation, then the illogical one -though impossible- is inevitably right.'_"_

"_No offense intended, Mark, but Sherlock Holmes was a novel character..."_

"_But the man, who created him, wasn't. Only because he had Sherlock Holmes say it, doesn't necessarily mean he was wrong...look, Jess, all he wanted to say was that we shouldn't rule things out just because we can't explain them with facts. We have instincts we can't and shouldn't ignore..."_

_Jesse swayed his head, signalizing his understanding and at the same time his doubtfulness. "What would _you_ do if you were me?"_

_The older doctor straightened up in his chair. "If I were you, I wouldn't jump to conclusions. But I also wouldn't give up on my feeling." He leaned forward and put a hand on Jesse's shoulder. The muscles in it were as tight a freshly tied rope. "You've got some people skills, I know that. And let me just tell you from experience, more often than not a sixth sense doesn't fool you completely..."_

"_Unless I start seeing dead people", Jesse murmured wryly._

"_What?"_

_The younger man grinned friendly. "You should go to the movies more often instead of reading Sherlock Holmes." _

"_I did have a point, though!", Mark blinked at his friend and got to his feet._

"_I know..." Jesse looked at his mentor in silent awe, the thin trace of a grateful smile hushing over his face. "Thank you, Mark..."_

"_I'm glad I could help", the older man was at the door again and jovially pointed at Jesse's hand. "You go ahead and do something against your headache, I will see you later...and good luck."_

_The young man's view wandered to the palm of his hand, where he was puzzled to find the bottle whose label claimed it to contain Aspirin. Somewhere between his free association to a Bruce Willis movie and the expression of his thankfulness for the advice, he must have pulled it out of his pocket subconsciously. He never told Mark that these painkillers were actually _giving_ him a headache. _

........................................

"Mark? Mark?"

The older doctor snapped back from his flashback to find Amanda standing next to him. He had never thought of that talk within the past days. And now it all of sudden felt so creepily vivid that Mark wondered how he'd ever been able to not recollect it immediately.

He stared into Amanda's black, deer-like eyes, fear crawling up his spine.

She repeated her question to which he seemed to know an answer. "Is this Aspirin the stuff we are looking for?"

"I believe it is." Mark ran two fingers over his moustache and around his mouth as though he was drawing an invisible frame for it. His mouth remained half way open while he needed to think for a second. His look drifted to the label of the little container, then back to Amanda's bewildered face. "I don't know why, but there was something about this bottle he wanted us to know..." He fell silent and his hands were shaking slightly. "I thought I was listening. But I missed it. It was right before my eyes and I missed it."

"You missed what?"

Mark was all of sudden in a rush to leave the locker room. "Come on, let's go. I'll tell you on the way..."


	6. I can't stay on your life support

Chapter 6

I am sooooooo incredibly sorry that I'm not able to write faster. I wish I could tell you that I'm gonna try to be faster in the future, but at the moment that's all I can do. School has started and I'm just really busy, but I will try and update on a more or less regular basis. I'm just really really amazed by your reviews and your feed-back. That someone would actually cite from the text almost made me cry with pride. :) I'm also happy you like the descriptions. They always take me the longest, so I'm happy when they add something to the story's effect. Please keep reading and telling me what you think. At least this chapter is a bit longer, so it justifies some of the wait, but by far not all of it. Thanks so much for your patience. It's a pleasure to be writing for you.

All disclaimers apply.

Mark had just finished the story of his conversation with Jesse the other day when he and Amanda arrived at the lounge. Steve had been pacing in there for a while, making circles like an encaged tiger. When his prey entered, he jumped at them aggressively, the expression in his eyes indeed wild. "Is it too much asked that you switch on your beepers when you go astray in this nut house, so that an averagely mortal person without telepathic abilities is gonna be able to find you?!", he barked at them with a tone that could have lead to a case of mistaken identities for someone wanting to find out who had the fatherly part in this confrontation.

At the moment of his outburst Steve didn't care much about his tune, though. He'd had the whole morning to get pumped and at the present state of his investigations he felt like a tire over-filled with hot air pressure and he had to get rid of some of it somehow. His dad and Amanda being nowhere to be found had been enough to push him over the edge of modest anger into honest rage.

Both doctors gave each other a confused glance and automatically looked down on themselves to their waistbands where their beepers were supposed to be. They grimaced when they noticed that some of Steve's over-agitated scolding was justified. Mark realized that after he had gone to the ICU he'd switched his beeper off and never back on, while Amanda slapped her head inwardly as she became aware of what exactly she'd left home last night when leaving the house.

"I'm sorry, Steve, I think we are both not in the best shape...", Mark said soothingly, however, it wasn't so much his apology that sent his son into remorseful muteness as it was his appearance.

Though the past 15 minutes had clearly given Mark a jolt of adrenalin he been lacking before, it hadn't added much order to his outer looks. Steve couldn't help but swallowing at his dad's wrecked face and body. He didn't know why he had actually been _longing_ for giving Mark and Amanda a hard time about having him wait, but he felt guilty for it. He just felt his own body was getting too small for the frustration that was crawling around in him like an evil snake and he needed to give it more space before it would drive him crazy.

"It's okay..." As a first sign of his forgiveness and his want for the same the Lieutenant stepped aside and let both doctors finally enter the doctor's lounge where they refilled their coffee mugs that still stood on the sink untouched. When the three of them slumped into the gray armchairs, none of them said anything for a minute.

"Listen, guys, _I_ am sorry", Steve shook his head in disbelief at his own behavior. "I don't know what's gotten into me to yell at you like that..."

"You are worried. We all are...", Amanda reasoned.

Steve ran a hand through his face, a silent swear on his lips that wasn't so much born from his worries than his frustration. "You can say that again, right now I'm more than worried. I just came from the station. Tanis and I spent the whole night working ourselves through the files of stolen and found cars that match the tire profile we found in the parking lot. We checked the cars in around the hospital parking area. We couldn't find anything. For all we know we are looking for a fore-wheeled, most likely European car. That's all we have...whoever did this, did a nearly perfect job..."

"I'm not intending to make it any easier for him, then...", Mark interrupted sternly.

A sparkle of sarcasm glistered in Steve's eyes, but quickly vanished as he reminded himself of keeping his temper under control. "Dad, we can't _find_ anything...not the person who did this to Jesse, not the car, not even the slightest hint..." Even as he said it, the pressure of not losing it again was evident in his voice.

"No, but we might have found a motive...", his father announced. As he threw Mark a -what he knew would be dumb-founded- glance, Steve meant to catch a glimpse of his father as he knew him. A small smile of pride for his findings and mischief hushed over Mark Sloan's face and though it didn't last long, Steve felt painfully reminded how much he liked his dad better that way.

However, he got over it quickly as the remark had finally reached his brain completely. He puffed his cheeks in sheer surprise. "Wow...where was I in the meantime?", he mumbled wryly, feeling kind of overpowered. "But...how?"

"Do you remember what Jesse said before he passed out?"

Steve shrugged and had to admit that he couldn't fully recall. The whole situation then seemed somewhat hazy in his memory, although his stomach still turned at the mere thought of it. "Something about his coat...which he wasn't wearing...dad, he was in a state of shock..."

"That's what I thought, too...we all thought that", Mark normally would have made himself a fun of mouth-feeding Steve and Amanda with pieces of information, but he neither had the energy nor the coolness to do so now. So he continued fluently: "But he wasn't, Steve. Look around, we are doctors, we wear coats all the time."

"So we thought we should have a look at Jesse's lab coat...", Amanda added.

Steve raised his eyebrows. "And you found..."

Mark pulled the bottle of pills out of his pocket and handed it into one of Steve's paw like hands. "Aspirin?" The Lieutenant read the label and gave himself a second to fit this piece of evidence into the rest of the case, before he found that he wasn't able to. "I don't get it..."

"There is no way you could. I didn't get it myself. But then I remembered Jesse having a bottle like this just a few days ago, when he came to ask me for some advice...", Mark stopped talking as he saw Amanda rising to his feet.

The young pathologist smiled down at them. "You go ahead and tell him, Mark, I'm gonna go to Jesse. Tell me when there's something new..." With that she was out of the door.

Walking down the hallway to the ICU, Amanda had to fight the tears in her again. As she'd sat there with Mark and Steve, talking about the case, the motives, the evidence, the young woman had suddenly felt misplaced. Something was missing. It was that part of her again that just didn't respond, no matter how much you provoked it to wake up from its slumber. The part in her that belonged to one of her oldest friends automatically dragged her to that person. She just wanted to feel closer to him than just a bottle of pills. She wanted to see him just to know he was still there, still a human being and not just a name on a hospital or police file.

Amanda didn't blame Mark and Steve for wanting to find out what had happened to their friend and she had witnessed how hard it was for them to deal with it. But right now she couldn't –and didn't want to- focus on a person out there who had come up with some cruel insane reason for killing Jesse. She wanted to concentrate on who was there and who needed her and deserved her attention 2 million times more than that person they were looking for.

It was fairly dark in the corridor that lead through the ICU and for a moment it crossed Amanda's mind how ironic it was that she felt so much more secure in her morgue than she did in here. Within the drawers of her pathology lab were corpses, the mortal rests of people who didn't further exist on this earth. When she looked at a dead body she didn't see any life or background or destiny in it. She just saw the secrets of the human body and the strange beauty of its arrangements, yet nothing to mourn for because this body wasn't more than a throw-away container anymore. She looked at it in the same way you would scan a shattered glass pane, fascinated by the complex perfection of the splinters, but detached from any sorrow, for the fragility of glass wasn't anything new to this world.

But in the ICU everything was different. The people here were still people, they were not dead. Fragility was the governing association of these halls. Mortality seemed much more present here, where life and death were so close to each other, where their contrasts appeared so bleached. Hope was wandering through the hallways, but it seemed pretty lonesome as though it didn't know whether it really belonged here between the beeping sounds of the machines and the lifeless green walls. This place was ten times more intimidating than her pathology lab, thought Amanda.

"May I help you?", said a thin voice next to her and she flinched slightly.

The freckled face in front of hers belonged to a young nurse with gray eyes and red hair, her pale skin and little nose gave her the image of a European heritance that looked classically Irish. Amanda's gaze motivated her to a shy smile. "I'm fairly new to this place myself, but you looked like you needed someone to tell you where to go."

Caught by surprise at the offer for a second, the pathologist nodded her head. "Yeah, actually you're right. I'm looking for Jesse Travis' room..."

"Oh...", the girl seemed lost in tacks for a minute, clearly considering whether or not she should make a statement or just let the emotion bounce back that was coming towards her. "I...I'm...are you a friend? I mean obviously you are one, other than that you wouldn't be here, assuming that you're not a family member. Which would be possible, I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not like that, it's that it's, you know...", her white cheeks reddened with each attempt to explain herself that escalated in further rambling. "I'm sorry...for what happened to him. I don't know him that well, but Ned...I mean Dr Higgins told me a lot about him."

Amanda smiled friendly. "It's okay. Just tell me where to go...what's your name?"

"Room 7...and it's Hope."

Grasping that information took Amanda longer than it normally would have done. "Hope...", she mumbled and then blinked at the younger woman. "That's a nice name. Thank you."

As she headed off to Jesse's room, Amanda felt those stone-gray eyes piercing her back with their gaze. She didn't know why, but something about this Hope made her feel uncomfortable.

A few minutes later Amanda sat on her friend's bedside, surrounded by the faint groans of the breathing machine and the beeps that monitored Jesse's steady, yet depressingly slow heartbeat. The young woman knew that if it hadn't been for the breathing mask that forced his lungs to take oxygen in and carbon-dioxide out on regular basis, they mostly likely would have refused their functions completely. The body knew on a subconscious level that the pain caused by the simple motion of raising the chest would be close enough to being unbearable.

The pure imagination of what it had been like for Jesse's to be aware of that cruelty for only one second or two when he had been awake before passing out, let the tears shoot back into Amanda's eyes where they remained this time. This was different than just sitting behind her desk and only feeling the lump in her throat. Now that she was actually seeing him, she was baffled by how much she had underrated the experience of it.

This, she thought, was something no one should ever have to go through. No one deserved seeing someone they loved like that. Amanda knew she was being selfish, but right now she didn't care. She just wanted him back, as her friend, her brother. "Please come back, Jesse", she whispered at his fragile face. "I don't wanna lose you. You can't do that to me and..." she stopped for a second and thought about what really scared her most about all this. "...and you couldn't do that to CJ." It only hit her in the very second she said it that she hadn't even taken her son into consideration, but it was true.

CJ loved Jesse more than anyone else, in such a naive and idealizing way children could only love one person in their life: their father. CJ had been way too young when Colin Livingston had died to remember him. He only knew his father from pictures and stories she had told him. All he knew about his father was the statue of that tall handsome air force pilot who smiled his honest self-confident smile at him from the picture frame on his bedside table. But that person, who was sitting on the left wing of a Tomcat as casually as though it was a park bench in his olive-green overall with the American flag tagged to his upper arm sleeve and the silvery glossing eagle pinned to his chest pocket, was more of a heroic myth than an actual human being.

CJ had found his father figure in the man who –by now six years ago, in his internship time- had had the questionable pleasure of being the doctor in charge of the delivery.

Amanda smiled sadly as a chain of images of her sons rushed through her mind. Kids were a vivid reminder of how fast time passed and things changed.

The young pathologist had to think of how she had thought just a few days ago that some things would never change...

_Humming a song she'd heard on the radio on the way to work, Amanda made her way along the hallways of the CGH. As she opened the door to her pathology lab and entered, she meant to notice a hurried movement in the corner of her eye and flinched. Normally corpses didn't tend to move at all and in case they did, there was very good money in assuming that for some spooky reason they weren't dead actually. The pathologist was about to pass a careful 'Hello?' into the room, but out came nothing but a shriek of relieved fear as she saw who exactly had moved in there, obviously. "Jesse? What in God's name are you doing in here!?"_

"_I am...working." Jesse beamed at her with one of his tooth-paste commercial smiles he always hoped to convince people of the opposite with when he knew he was in danger of getting severely hurt. Loosely interpreting Amanda's glare, he came to the conclusion he wasn't overreacting. He knew there was only one way of coming through this alive...unfortunately in many years of knowing Amanda he had never been able to define what that way might have looked like._

_Amanda gave the clock over the door a demonstrative glance. "It's 7 o'clock in the morning, don't you have a home?"_

_Before the young man could even think of something smart to reply, she had interrupted his very notion of telling her anything. "No, stop, let me guess. You know, the more I think about it, I believe you don't have a home. You have been living in a Los Angeles without ever using an apartment...wow, that's like 'Survivor'..." A hostile sparkle flickered in her eyes, the kind of hostility you could only confront your friends with and still be on the safe side._

_Jesse rolled his eyes. "Since you've already been referring to the time, couldn't you start with being in a nasty mood around 8 and tell me where you've got your indicator solutions?"_

"_Well, they are definitely not in the fridge...anyway, what do you need them for?" By now she had accepted that she wouldn't get rid of him. He was up to something and in that state Jesse was -as the majority of men she knew- both stubborn and amazingly resistant to insults._

_He quickly closed the door of the refrigerator and blushed as a sound from his stomach reminded him why he had taken this little extra way in the course of his research. "I need to do some tests..."_

"_Why don't you just send them to the lab?"_

"_Because I need the results quickly."_

"_Oh, I see...and telling them those results have highest priority doesn't work because..."_

"_I'm doing some research."_

"_Maybe you should read your job description again. You were hired to sew patients back together, the guys who do the research are those who sit in the basement and wear thick glasses..."_

"_Can't you just give me the indicator stuff?"_

"_Not before you tell me what you need it for."_

"_Fine, then I'm just gonna sit here until you give it to me...", he slumped down into the chair next the microscope he'd obviously been using before. "I've got time."_

"_You don't say...", Amanda mocked him and took place behind her desk, enjoying the situation. _

_Jesse wasn't a person born to be sitting around. He was always in motion. He belonged to the kind of people who always seemed to be moving, even if they weren't physically doing so. He was someone to tap a foot onto the floor in a subconscious rhythm, someone to wiggle in fingers like a pianist who was about ready to hit the piano keys. Motion was so much a part of him that he didn't even realize he was doing _something_ all the time._

_Just now the young doctor pretty much acted out his habit with relentless gleefulness. Knowing that sooner or later his opponent would beg for mercy. He tapped his feet, he drummed his fingers onto the table, he whistled a jazzy song far from any recognizable beat or chorus._

_Amanda tried to ignore him, but it was a battle against an undefeatable and yet undefeated empire. Jesse had the ability to drive you crazy with such an amount of persistence, that she didn't know whether to be fascinated and scared of it. The thing of it was that he didn't have to be that way. She had seen him in a different way, quiet and calm and almost introverted, but it seemed to be part of a Jesse Travis he himself didn't know how to deal with. He could be serious if the situation demanded it, but at the very moment he was just being very annoying._

_The pathologist snorted as she closed a file with exaggerated noise. "You know you're jeopardizing a great friendship..."_

_He gave her one of those melting looks. "You're the one who's obstructing my work."_

"_Your work?! What would you say if I came into your trauma room and told you I wanted to perform an autopsy there?"_

"_That is totally beside the point. If you just gave me that indicator liquid, you wouldn't even know I was here."_

_She sighed and held up her hands as she went over to a cupboard, took a little bottle of liquid and tossed it over to him. The container came, flying with such a force that it sent a tingle through Jesse's arm as he caught it mid-air. _

"_Thanks!", he said, genuinely happy._

"_Anytime...", Amanda mumbled sourly as he turned his back on her, however, a smile started to creep into her features and she assumed the same in Jesse's face, though she couldn't see it. They were very aware of the fact that they were both only-children and had about 30 years of catching up to do when it came to childish quarrellings._

_While Jesse brought his attention back to a little glass in which he had diluted something pulverized, Amanda uncovered a body on the autopsy table and soon had forgotten that he was there._

_Only as Jesse's fist suddenly smashed on the table about 15 minutes later, she almost jumped two yards into the air. "Jeez, Jesse, now I definitely know you're here!"_

_He had gotten up from his chair quickly and turned to her, his expressions now far more serious than before, full of angry surprise. "I'm sorry, Amanda."_

_Jesse could hardly keep himself from shaking as he took the bottle of pills from the table and let it slip back into his pocket, not without looking at the label once more just to make sure. "So I was right...", he mumbled, obviously louder than intended._

_She peered at him in curious expectation. "Right with what?"_

"_What?...oh, nothing special...", he uttered as he grabbed the little glass in which he had smashed one of those pills before and threw it into the waste bin. He knew it, he would have to lie. "I think I lost a bet...", he added and hoped it sounded light-heartedly, but it came out with a mismatching over-affectionate tune. "See you later...", with these words he practically stormed out._

_Amanda saw him vanish and shook her head. "Men..."_

The young woman blinked twice to clear her head and winced as she realized where she was. Shaken by the thoughts that her mind was piecing together just now, she sat up straight in her chair and pressed her thumb andindex finger onto her eyes for second. When she reopened them nothing had changed, except for now she was in a hurry. It had seemed like a harmless memory in the beginning, and all of sudden it was so much more.

She had noticed something wasn't normal, and yet, since even Jesse himself had never mentioned this morning again, she had forgotten about it. It just hadn't seemed to be important.

Amanda looked at Jesse's face, seeking for some kind of answer, and found nothing that would satisfy her. There didn't seem to be anything at all. All she could hope for was that this comatose facade was only a cover that hid still a little motion after all. And that some of this spirit would be stronger than this layer of lethargic silence.

She gently ran her hand over his forehead. "I knew you didn't tell me the truth. I...I wish I'd asked you tell me if it could've prevented all this from happening. I'm sorry, Jesse. You are my friend, I love you, okay? And we're gonna find out what happened..." The young woman got up from her chair and gathered her thoughts for the world outside this room, but allowed her gaze to drift back once more to the features of her best friend. She really loved this little idiot like a brother.

"Indicator liquids?", Steve asked, a frown emerging over his brows that was typical for a medical layman. He was the first one to speak after Amanda had finished her story and he was the one breaking the silence that had lapsed between his dad and him, after Mark had told him his story of how Jesse had come to him for advice.

Amanda nodded. "Yeah, he asked me for them. And I might be imagining it, but I think he had a bottle like this next to him on the table. I guess he had smashed one of the pills in a glass and diluted them in water. Then he needed the indicator solution..."

The Lieutenant sighed and looked at his father for help. "Please refresh my chemical recollections, dad, would you mind?"

Though Mark himself was pretty stunned at the new facts they were presented, he slowly opened his mouth to answer. "Of course, son. Indicator solutions or indicator paper are used to evaluate whether a liquid is an acid or an alkali. Depending on how intense the color of the liquid becomes after mixing it with the indicator, you can tell how acidic or alkaline the tested liquid is."

"Uhu...", was Steve's only reaction. Though he had tried to listen as carefully as his non-scientific mind would allow him, something else had kept him busier. To his father and Amanda it appeared to be obvious that Jesse had shown some kind of weird behavior a couple of times. But even though Steve was beating himself up about it, he couldn't remember any of it. He simply hadn't noticed anything, the more he tried to force his memory to come with something –_anything_-, he couldn't recall his friend behaving out of his way and it was beginning to make him mad.

Jesse was his friend and business partner and Steve had always thought he knew him like nobody else, so much that nothing would surprise him anymore. However, being honest, he was pretty surprised to find himself sitting here and piecing past events together, so that his friend's behavior would make some kind of sense to them. Why would Jesse think he would have to keep something a secret from his friends? Steve had always thought Jesse would trust him at least enough to tell him when he was in trouble.

While he had been lost in thoughts, Mark and Amanda had been occupied with their own musings.

"It remains to be seen why Jesse would test Aspirin for its acidic value...", Amanda was thinking out loud.

Mark's eyes narrowed as he rolled the little orange container in the palm of his right hand. He read the label once again and suddenly a glint of mental awakening pushed itself through the tired glaze over his lenses. "If I was him, I would do it if..."

"If what?"

"If I wasn't sure whether it was Aspirin..." Almost angry at how long it had taken him to figure it out, Mark was now hectically opening the bottle of pills. Since he didn't have anything on hand to find out what was actually in it, he decided to rely on one of his five senses first of all.

A nose wasn't as precise as an indicator liquid or any other test a chemist would come up with, but it was good enough to start with. The older doctor held his nose over the bottle opening and sniffed once, then twice.

The weak scent that hit his mucous membranes was acidic indeed, but... "This is definitely _not_ Aspirin."

Amanda's and Steve's eyes widened in surprise. "So what is it?", the young pathologist asked.

Mark swayed his head. "I'm not sure, but the stuff that's in here is at least 3 times as strong." The head of the internal medicine once again took a deep breath over the open container and grimaced. "Again, I can't be certain, but my guess would be Codeine."

His look focused on the younger man and woman in front of him. The blue in his eyes seemed to harden as his voice became stern and sounded throatily. "You both know what that means..."


	7. There's a shortage in the switch

Chapter 7

Me again! I'm sorry, it's just not getting any faster than this, but I hope you will stick with the story, though. I really appreciate your wonderful feedback, it really keeps me going! Thank you so much for your patience and please enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: The half-heartedly cited song lyrics belong to the song "Come Undone" by Robbie Williams published on his album Escapology. Don't get me wrong, I really like that song a lot, but the context was inspired by a little scene I got to witness in a coffee shop lately.

Have fun!

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There was a dwelling silence in the room since Mark had spoken. The three of them had been befallen by their very own musings of what this could mean. The facts on the one hand were pretty simple. They had the victim of a crime who happened to be their friend. They had a bottle of Aspirin that wasn't actually Aspirin but Codeine. The crucial difference between both drugs was that a pack of the first one could be bought without prescription, while there was no legal way of getting an equal amount of the second one over the counter just like that. There was something going on in this hospital. And it was nothing to have any good feelings about. Jesse had been guessing something; he had wanted to tell them something.

To Steve, however, it wasn't really clear what his dad had implied. He gave the situation a quick thought about whether he should keep his obvious slow-mindedness to himself as he sometimes did when his father lost him completely while putting together the evidence. But the Lieutenant came to the conclusion that this time a clear overview had absolute priority in comparison to maintaining some kind of selfish pride. To help Jesse he needed every answer he could find, even if he had to ask. There were too many questions circulating through his head already, he couldn't afford to let pass a chance on minimizing them down to an amount he could work with.

"So what _does_ it mean?"

At his words Mark and Amanda felt weirdly bathed in guilt for not considering that Steve wasn't an insider when it came to medical facts. On occasion that would happen to them. As they forgot that not every member of the human race was doctor, they would just start talking some expertise language and though they knew Steve would never complain, they could sense how much it bothered him to always be the one asking the stupid questions that, looking at it from another angle, weren't that stupid. The majority of people wasn't doctors, but working in a hospital, you were virtually bound forget that.

Normally Amanda and Mark would have smiled and offered a happy explanation of facts, but this time they felt so ruefully reminded of their neglectfulness, they couldn't even bring themselves to chuckle. Seeing a frown clouding Steve's forehead, Mark for the first time recognized fully how hard all this was on his son. In his worries about Jesse he hadn't noticed that he wasn't the only one worrying, even though it was so obvious. Simply the fact that physically his son was pretty much in the same battered state as his father should have been evidence enough to figure that on the inside he probably didn't look too much different either.

The doctor threw a second look at the pills in the container and blinked as he noticed something that hadn't caught his eye in the beginning. He gently shook the bottle so two pills fell onto the palm of his hand and showed them around in their little group. "They are not marked." he stated and this time he didn't give Steve any time to feel left out again. "If these were produced for legal use there should be a little '3' on them, but there is none."

"So these were produced and sold illegally?", Steve said only half asking.

Amanda shrugged in plain confusion. "But what would Jesse have to do with that?"

Though it was also the question that Mark was really interested in, he held up his hands. "We will get to that, but let's think first. Before asking for the _what?_, we should wonder about the _who?_ and the _why_?..."

The _why?_... Oh yeah, Steve could think of an outrageously good why-question to this, though he doubted it was the one his father was thinking of in the first place. _Why for God's sake didn't Jesse tell me he was in trouble?_ The Lieutenant felt like smashing his fist into the wall and at the same second wanted to strangle himself for it. He'd rather bitten off his tongue than admitting it to himself or his father or Amanda, but Jesse's behavior drove him insanely mad. All the accumulated anger was collected in that one thought and inevitably reflected at one person, someone who Steve knew he couldn't and didn't even want to blame.

"Why would someone produce Codeine illegally?", Amanda's far more constructive why-question brought Steve back down to earth.

"Ain't that obvious?", he asked a little more brusquely than intended. He felt sorry, but he was far sorrier the next second when Amanda's reproachful glare hit him. He sensed that this was something every man had to go through, for this glare was something only a woman was able to produce. Her gaze was so filled with typically feminine maturity, that it would make any man feel completely inferior.

Instantly Steve knew that was what he'd needed. Something that would put that snake behind glass again, that would bring him down from his high of aggressiveness. Anything that didn't bend under his rage was a lot more valuable than something that would constantly give in to it. He really had to get reorganized if he wanted to take some action.

"Okay", he motioned in his chair, the change of attitude obvious to both doctors who didn't know what had caused it, but were undeniably happy about it.

"What exactly does Codeine do?" Steve had decided that in the course of getting answers, he had to ask the questions first that were lying the closest.

"As I said, it's a painkiller. It's better than Aspirin or Tylenol, but it's not as strong as Morphine or Demerol" Mark answered baffled, however, motivated by Steve's sudden mood-swing.

"So what you're saying is that it's not on top of a painkiller-addict's list", the Lieutenant concluded and was assured his rightness through a confirming nod.

"Which brings us back to my question: Why would anyone produce it illegally then? I'm sure there is far more money in selling Morphine out on the streets", Amanda interrupted.

"But also a bigger risk.", Mark threw in. "The process of producing Morphine is more complicated than of Codeine. And adding to that it has to be injected into the vein. It might be harder to sell a syringe or viol somewhere compared to a pill container."

"Especially when it's got the wrong label on it", Steve murmured, straining his brain for some sort of idea flash, while Amanda held up her index finger into the air to put emphasis on what the police man had just said.

"Which brings me to another question: These pills are from our stock, how could they be around without any of us ever noticing?" The young pathologist narrowed her eyes and mentally went through the cases of overdoses she'd dealt with during the past weeks and she could practically hear Mark running a list of his patients through his mind, too.

"We basically have the answer to that question already. Think about how long it took us to figure out what was in there." Steve scrutinized the label of the pill container that named "Community General Hospital" as its source.

"Because we didn't take the pills. If we had mistaken them for Aspirin and used them, I bet we would have noticed a lot quicker" Mark said.

"Okay, that was my original question: What exactly does it do?" Steve stressed the quizzing words and to prevent the coming up salvo of a complex medical and chemical hypothesis, he offered an explanation of what he wanted to hear: "What would happen to me if I took it, not knowing what it was?"

Mark scanned his son for a second, trying to picture him as a nameless patient and found there was no way he could. Even as he formed an imaginary diagnosis to that imaginary situation, the shudder that was just waiting to creep along his spine started its way all the way down and sent his thoughts off to the edges of what he was trying to focus on. A quick image of Jesse flickered up before his eyes and turned into a chain of pictures, not only of the young doctor, but of everyone Mark cared about. They were winning on speed and along with that gaining on weight, thus burying his rationalism completely for a few moments under their opulently emotional body.

"Dad?" Steve addressed his father insecurely, no knowing how to interpret the gray emptiness in whose eyes.

"Yeah, I'm sorry", Mark switched back into reality, though the acknowledgement of his mental presence was way too eager for Steve to believe the delay of the reaction was just due to a lack of sleep.

"You" the older man needed some time to sort his thinking and then continued, "You are a healthy guy, Steve, one or two pills in your system wouldn't knock you out. Your limbs would feel heavy, you'd be sleepy, maybe dizzy. The effects of the drug vary strongly depending on age, height, weight, emotional and physical state of the one who takes it. You wouldn't have any serious trouble with a small dose, but someone else"

"Oh, with the amounts of coffee he's drinking?!" Amanda interrupted him, shaking her head heavily.

Mark nodded tiredly. "She's is right. Other drugs like caffeine or alcohol are more dangerous in combination with Codeine."

Steve frowned, his mind racing all of sudden. "So if I swallowed these with a mug of coffee..."

"Which you would most likely do since you never drink anything else", Amanda chipped in wryly, not being minded by him though.

"So if I would take it like that...still assuming it was Aspirin", he spoke again.

"...it wouldn't turn out to be one of your fanciest experiences. Rapid heartbeat, sweating, sickness, dizziness, body numbness, blackouts, the list goes on", Mark's feeling of having regained the control over himself enabled him to run down a list of possibilities quickly, but that feeling crumbled under the gaze that started dominating his son's face.

Steve stared at his dad and beyond him at the same time, his lips dry as he knew that the next question would unleash an inevitably reproachful interrogation. That was it. He had tried to remember anything so hard all the time and looked over the most obvious detail. "So it'd probably have a similar effect on someone who was somewhat smaller than me, but let's say like...ten years younger?"

A hollow glare pierced him from two different directions.

"Steve, what are you implying?"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_Steve Sloan entered the BBQ Bob's through the front door and automatically let his expectant gaze drift over the tables to get an idea of the number of guests they were serving today. It was a typical business man habit of which he had thought it'd never take possession of him, but it had become a quiet ritual, a function that took over whenever he walked into this place. He certainly loved this restaurant, so did Jesse. And if their action of buying it before it closed down didn't show their affection, then surely did the ambition with which he and Jesse hovered tables, dishes and chairs around in every second they weren't working homicide cases or the ER at the hospital. Steve had even learned how to balance a total of four plates loaded with ribs with two hands, even though his dad was normally the by-destiny-obstructed variety artist in the family. _

_For a weekday morning the place was satisfyingly well filled, however, not that heavily bursting with people that it would have been an explanation for the deafening noise that, as Steve realized now, came from behind the counter, where someone had turned on the radio to its maximum volume _

_Steve rolled his eyes, regarding the reward you got when you left your restaurant in the hands of a bunch of UCLA students for a couple of ours. _

"_Morning, Steve!" Alex greeted while he whistled the chorus of the song that had just started and took the orders from two people who were seated at the counter. _

_Steve smiled a weary hello at him, sighing, as he took a red apron and pulled it to tie it behind his back, so it'd fit tightly around his waist. Then he waved the med student over and thought about which amount of decibel he had to hit exactly, to drown out the stereo and still not appear to be yelling at his employees in front of the guests. That was quite a task._

_Alex came, cheerily informing his boss about an obviously positive fact, but he waited in vain for the contagious effect of his happiness. Steve would have loved to hear some good news, but since he couldn't hear anything and didn't know how to read lips either, the crease on his forehead remained right where it was. He ushered Alex into a corner far away from the radio and the guests and screamed directly into the young man's ear. "Turn that crap down! In case you guys didn't notice, we are trying to keep a restaurant running here, but that won't work if anyone coming in here thinks they walked directly into an ACDC concert!"_

_The student got an ashamed look on his face, as he leaned closer to the Lieutenant's ear:"I'm sorry, Steve, I can't! Someone broke the volume regulator and now it's either loud music or none at all."_

_Steve decided quickly not to jump into a discussion of the gap between their generations and simply accepted the fact that he was getting old, since he would have determined undoubtedly that no music at all was still better than having your brain blown out by the outrageously intellectual lyrics of some Ex-Mickey-Mouse-Club kid host. _

_Instead he gave Alex a sign of hand that he would take care of the matter himself and that the waiter with ER experience should get back to work._

_Yet, ten minutes later the owner of the BBQ Bob's was about ready to kill anyone who had anything to do with the invention of radios, stereos, pop-stars and audio commercials. _

"I come undone" _Some British guy blared at him out of the loudspeaker and Steve grunted in dismay. "If you don't keep your noise down, it might be you coming undone with my help", he mumbled and threw a quick look to the other side of the counter to see how many people had already fled or stuffed napkins into their ears, noticing relieved, that there hadn't been done too much active damage so far. Only an elderly lady, who stood on front to pay her meal, shot Steve an intimidating glare as the 'f' word was transported into the air for the third time in one verse. _

_He offered her an apologetic smile and decided for a radical action as he saw the mournful look on his employee's face, who'd obviously just done the math and found out how much tip he'd got. _

_However, someone beat Steve to it. Just as he was about to reach for the off-button, the stereo turned itself off as though God himself had appointed an invisible hand to stop the ordeal. Despite a vivid complaint from the direction of a corner booth where two teenage boys had just been attacking each other with the contents of two ketchup bottles, a generally thankful groan of relief filled the room, before the guests started an easy-going chatter now that they could hear themselves thinking again._

_As the Lieutenant looked up in expectation of an earthly reason for the well-accepted quietness, he was surprised to say the least. Steve hadn't wanted to crawl under the cupboard to search the cable salad of their different machines for the plug that belonged to the stereo, but he could imagine that –if you weren't an explicitly good-natured and patient person- that would come to your mind. _

_But grimness and impatience wasn't exactly what you'd have associated with Jesse Travis, who stood next to the stereo, the cable from it dangling between his fingers. The head of the ER at the CGH normally was so oblivious to any kind of disturbing noise that Steve sometimes doubted he'd even wince if a building crashed down right next to him. Working in the busy emergency room for years had taught Jesse how to tune out the world around him completely to a level that enabled him to work a trauma surgery with the same precision that was expected from the people upstairs in the ORs._

_With a patient in a critical state time would slow down around him. Where decision-making was matter of seconds, relativity of time would make them to minutes in his mind, blocking out the pressure the actual clock was giving him. _

_After thirty-six hours, however, Jesse felt he had nothing left of his ability to detach himself from the real world. When he had entered the restaurant through the back door, he'd become aware of a horribly loud and increasingly petrifying sound and his only intention had been to make it stop. Fast. Stat, to speak his own language. _

_Steve straightened up from his hunched forward position before the radio and gave his business partner a welcoming smile. What he got in return was a hollow glare that stated prisoners wouldn't be taken. "Wow...looks like you're havin' a terrific beginning of the day?" he dared to inquire._

_Jesse snorted, as he dropped the cable and went directly over to the coffee machine without ever casting Steve another glance. "Nice choice of words"_

"_Why?" The Lieutenant grimaced as he realized what he'd just done. He'd just made himself a listening slave to the detailed description of thirty-six hours' car accidents, lunatics, fools and ... more fools. _

"_Because", Jesse started, hitting the first syllable sharply, "_beginning_ of a day usually implies that the previous _ended_ some time earlier"_

_Steve could have guessed from the blood-shot eyes, the loosely tucked-in shirt and untied shoes that his friend hadn't had a great deal of naps, but"You didn't sleep at all?!", he asked, hardly trying to masquerade the underlying message of _'What the heck are you even doing here then?'

_If Jesse had heard him, he didn't acknowledge that. "You know, I wonder what kind of catastrophe on this earth is gonna be necessary to finally get people used to the idea that there is some reason behind the prohibition of driving under the influence of alcohol!"_

_From the smoothness of the pronunciation Steve understood that he wasn't the first person today Jesse offered that fundamental manifestation to. But he was partly able to piece together what his friend was talking about. "Oh, the freeway accident...it was on the radio", he quickly jerked his index finger towards the forcefully silenced stereo. "I heard them sayin' something about a drunken driver crashing into the end of a traffic jam"_

_The young doctor shook his head sadly. "Five major trauma cases, almost a dozen other injuries, three people dead"_

"_What about the driver?"_

"_Oh, he was feeling terrific!", Jesse hissed sadistically through gritted teeth. "He was wheeled into the ER with his worst injury being a neatly broken arm, vomiting his Jack Daniel's out on the nurses and still singing the national anthem" _

_Steve rolled up his eyes at so much idiocy, partly sharing Jesse's anger, but he still had a sarcastic remark on his lips. "At least he's got an impressive amount of patriotism" _

"_Not half as impressive as his blood alcohol" Jesse's voice was almost shaking with disgust. "He was lucky I had Higgins deal with him 'cause after loosing the third patient innocently crushed behind his steering wheel, I'd probably have refused to treat that guy."_

_The older man poured himself a coffee and scanned his business partner for a second. "You sure you don't wanna go home?" he asked carefully._

_Jesse shook his head no and sipped from his coffee. "You know", he started, grabbing their unopened mail from the shelf behind the counter, "I came out of the OR, went to change and thought that I should have listened to my mother's advice and opened a restaurant. And then it all of sudden occurred to me: Wait, I _have_ restaurant!" He quickly checked the different bills they'd got and then dug out a file from the depth of the shelf._

_Steve frowned. "You really feel up for doing the books now?" He was kind of contradicting his self-set motto since he'd actually been praying for Jesse to do the accounting today, so he wouldn't have to do it._

_His friend shot him a weary smile. "Did the bank send an inquiry of my personal well-being or are you worried about me?"_

_The Lieutenant in the red apron held up his hands in self-defense. "Hey, you basically just killed our stereo, I have a good reason to doubt the soundness of your mind."_

"_Don't worry. Let me just quickly take something to kill my headache and I'll be fine" With that Jesse fished an Aspirin container out of his pocket, broke the seal and took one of the pills out, which he gulped down with the remaining content in his mug. _

_His business partner watched him and smirked slightly. "A doctor's breakfast", he commented slyly, seeing the pill container vanish back where it had come from. "Tell me, do you guys ever actually pay for these?"_

_Jesse gave him a dangerously unnerved glare as he opened the account files. "You should be careful with whom you're being smug to or you'll be doing the books yourself faster than you know itâ€and by the way, yes, I sign them out at the stock and they get subtracted off my paycheck. Where do you think your dad gets your homely drug store from?"_

_The other man was about to reply something, but since he didn't know what exactly he wanted to say, he opted for leaving his place behind the counter and disarm the high school kids in the corner booth from their ketchup pump guns instead. _

__

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

__

_Steve had been running around for half an hour, doing this and that, before he finally found time to return to the counter and get himself another coffee. The number of their guest had diminished to more or less zero, something that was natural for the time of day. The hour between the end of breakfast time and beginning of lunch time was usually used by all restaurant owners in this part of town to catch up on the things that had had to wait during the early hours of the day when they were busy serving fresh coffee and scrambled eggs. _

_Now with the heat of noon approaching, also the scent in the BBQ Bob's changed from the morning smell of freshly pressed oranges and baked pan cakes to the rich and spicy smoke from the grilled spareribs. Simply inhaling that odor had reviving effect on Steve's senses, the tingle of satisfied happiness that usually waited at the end of a working day when he could finally kick his shoes off his feet and slump into the cushions of his couch. _

_When he cast a glance to his friend, however, Steve noticed he didn't quite share that feeling of general comfort. Jesse had become fairly pale around his nose, the shadows framing his eyes stood out black on their unsettling white background. His eyelids blinked constantly in the seemingly urgent need to get his view refocused._

_Steve frowned as he carefully tipped his hand against his friend's shoulder. "Jess? You okay?"_

_Jesse ran his hand over his face and swayed his head. "I...I don't know...I'm feeling kinda dizzy...just let me have another cof....", he immediately longed for his mug, but Steve was faster._

"_Not a chance!" he said strictly, as he put his friend's mug out of reach. "You are so out of it, I wouldn't even have you drink lemonade. You are gonna go to sleep in the back room"_

"_I'm okay", Jesse argued, though he didn't believe himself for a single second. He was feeling more than dizzy, almost at the edge of fainting, but the way he was now he wouldn't even have made it from his chair to the door, not even talking about the back room._

_Steve sighed in brotherly despair. "Jesse", he reasoned, "what kind of advertisement is it for this place when you sit here at the counter looking like you are going to throw up any second? By the way, in case you are intending to do that, please use the bathroom in the back"_

"_How incredibly sensitive you are", Jesse muttered, shuffling his tired body from the chair at the counter down to earth. As his feet hit the ground, he realized he was hardly able to balance out his own weight._

"_Thanks, I get that all the time", his friend replied, relieved as he saw Jesse motioning to get off his seat. Once on his feet, however, the young man seemed frozen, his skin glossing with a thin film of sweat. "You need help?", Steve asked, now seriously worried._

_Jesse kind of managed to shake his head as he put one foot before the other, when he felt his stomach making a 180 degrees turn and all of sudden was in a hurry. _

_As Steve heard the retching sound from the back room a few seconds later, he didn't know what to think. 'Must have been some rough time in the ER', he thought to himself, outwardly smiling at the customers entering for lunch, and decided that he might as well leave his friend in peace for now and give him some time to get over the strenuous time of his previous night. _

__

oooooooooooooooooooooo

__

Mark sat in his chair, stiffly listening to the end of his son's story. "You never told me about that"

"It didn't seem important, I thought he was over-worked. A few hours later he got up and seemed fine, more or less. He even had dinner with us that night," Steve rushed to answer, his voice almost trembling.

His father calmed him down by getting up and putting a hand on his son's shoulder. "You don't have to justify yourself, Steve. I think, given the circumstances, I wouldn't have done more than you did"

This time it was Amanda who had a rational doubt, before coming to conclusion. "Dinner with us, the same night? I don't know, you guys...one would think Codeine would have knocked him out longer than just a few hours."

Mark shook his head. "No necessarily. If it was as Steve said, he threw up most of it before it could get into his system...but it proves he didn't take the Codeine knowingly" He was glad to be able to state at least that. For one horrible moment at the beginning of Steve's story, he'd found himself trying to remember whether Jesse had shown any kind of addictive behavior. Now the older doctor hated himself for even letting that thought cross his mind, as though things weren't already bad enough at present. "I think we just found the key to how it all started", he remarked, far less happily than he normally did at such a turn in investigations.

The crease on Steve's forehead deepened in an effort to understand what his father was talking about. Also Amanda shot Mark a bewildered glance. "So tell us"

Mark looked from his son to the pathologist and offered a thin grin of success that was barely to be described as one. Sobered by the past events, Dr Sloan felt himself caught in the delusion of his objectivity, his hands cuffed together by his own helplessness.

"It's all like a big puzzle, our memories being the pieces:

_Jesse got this bottle of pills from our stock, like we always do with non-prescriptive drugs. He took it, thinking it was Aspirin. If you don't look for the difference, Aspirin and Codeine are very hard to tell apart. But he must have noticed something wasn't right when he realized how his body reacted to the drug. What Steve saw was only the nausea, but Jesse must have been able to guess he had taken something wrong. Perhaps he rechecked the bottle and still found it said Aspirin on it. He decided to run a test which clearly acknowledged his suspicion. That was when Amanda caught him in her lab. Then he came to me for advice. Jesse knew there was something going on and he startled somebody, obviously._"

Mark finished and let the overview of the different events sink into their minds. Though he had only been talking for a few minutes, he himself felt weary. With this puzzle being almost put together, some things were clearer to him, yet, still far from being easier. He was more than certain that –even though he'd quite a clear image of what had happened- he had missed something. Very far in the beginning he hadn't recognized what was going on. He had just so much relied on knowing Jesse like himself; he had lost his stomach feeling. It was nagging through Mark's skin and into his soul. The signs had been there so openly in front of him and his feeling just hadn't been alerted. And even though he was aware that he was crossing over the limit of his natural responsibilities, he just couldn't help it: Mark Sloan just felt like a bad father.

Steve suddenly rose to his feet, ready for action. "Then I'm gonna go and find that somebody now"

"You won't have to go very far", Amanda mumbled, shooting Mark a glance, fearing and longing for his acknowledgement, which she got.

The Lieutenant got a quizzical expression in his eyes, his throat tightening as he could guess he wouldn't be thrilled to learn whatever they were thinking.

His father looked him into the eyes, his voice shaken by instant realization. "Amanda's right. The person who did this to Jesse is most likely working in the hospital."

TBC


	8. I can't stay on your morphine

Chapter 8

Okay, I'm really sorry for taking that long. This chapter and the next one were supposed to be in one, but I split it in two because I didn't want to have you wait any longer, I'm already feeling bad enough. Your patience is amazing and thank you so much for sticking with the story; I appreciate all your comments very much!

…………………………………………

The security guard had taken position right in front of the door of the ICU room, so no one could sneak in or out without being under his stern peer. He had strict order not to let anyone in who wasn't Mark, Amanda, Dr Higgins or anyone the first mentioned people hadn't explicitly listed as harmless.

Steve couldn't decide whether the sight of that uniformed guy, who looked as undefeatable and naturally strong as a Mammoth tree, in front of his friend's hospital room made him feel better or worse. The newly won safeness of Jesse's life definitely gave him a bit of an ease. But then again it was the necessity of having an armed official stand there to offer the least possible amount of protection to someone, who'd already been through enough of bad luck, was what twisted the Lieutenant's guts.

As his father strode towards him, Steve left his indecisive position half-way between the guard and the exit of the unit and went over to meet him, to spare Mark some of the way and himself the heart-wrenching choice of joining his dad to Jesse's room or leaving. As he headed for his goal, Steve all of sudden realized that, frankly, he was walking directly in the middle of the corridor as though dancing on an invisible line drawn on the floor.

This place was no prison and yet to Steve the ICU had such a strong resemblance to one that he had unconsciously adjusted every movement and notion to it as though he was in for a visit at what people in this town called LAlcatraz, the state prison of South California somewhat down the coast. Though there were no criminals behind bars who could reach out for your arm, drag you to the side and press a pencil or some other makeshift weapon against your throat, it still felt to the police man as though there was potential danger lurking behind every door, just waiting for him to make a wrong step to one side or the other.

Only now it occurred to Steve how exuberantly huge his hatred for this part of the CGH was. He'd only stayed here once for a longer period of time after receiving two major gun shots to the chest, when he had been in coma and pretty much more dead than alive for a couple of days. The Lieutenant quietly insisted that it took no less than that to keep him here for any amount of time, no matter how short.

Attempting to look as casual as he could, Steve made his way to his dad, but it needed far more acting talent to convince Mark Sloan that the younger man was feeling utterly comfortable here. As his son was walking along the main corridor of the ICU he gave the impression of someone crossing a forest of dead woods at night, seemingly expecting the trees to reach out with their branches to catch him.

As he wanted to focus Steve's attention on something different than his innate aversion against these hallways, Mark waved with the file he was holding in his hand, letting a partly relieved smile gain the upper hand on his otherwise concerned looking features. The file contained results of new tests they'd done with an ampoule of Jesse's blood, drawn only half an hour ago.

The younger Sloan pointed at his father's hands, hoping he wasn't misinterpreting whose expressions. "Did you find anything?"

"Nothing", Mark answered happy about the negativity of his statement. "No poison, no drugs, none that are not supposed to be there anyway." The doctor stated, then instantly his face grew firm again, clouded with dismay. "Seems as though our man in question has great confidence in the effects his attack would take…"

"…or a great lack of confidence in Jesse's abilities to fight them…" Steve continued grimly.

Mark gasped at so much blunt honesty, feeling his throat tighten as though wrapped by an invisible rope. He eyed Steve intensely, trying to find out what was really going on inside his son. What he saw troubled him immensely for he could see the man in front of him was on the verge of asking something he didn't want to answer.

"Seriously, dad…how big are the chances he is gonna be right?" Steve didn't even blink as the words left his mouth, but inwardly braced himself for the worst of all truths.

The man in the white coat lowered his head and looked at the test results for second, staring at them, not reading them. A few minutes ago these hadn't seemed so bad compared to how much worse it could have been in his medical mind, but the purity of Steve's fear had taken the curtain off the numbers.

Jesse's blood values were okay, however, his heart rate was way too slow, his breathing ability strongly constricted, some of his organs only half functioning, all in all his body was constantly depending on the mechanical care that was provided here. His condition wasn't getting worse, but neither was he getting any better.

Mark struggled for words to fill the answer with. He knew he had to say something that was close enough to the truth. Steve had made himself pretty clear. Then again what could he say, so that his son wouldn't be accusing him of academic and fatherly ignorance? And what could he say that –on the other hand- wasn't entirely shattering, merciless in its cruelty, that wasn't totally lethal to any kind of higher spirit.

As he realized there was no such a thing to say, Mark made a drastic decision for his own and also Steve's good. He took Steve by the rough textile of whose jacket and gently pulled him in the direction of the guard in front of the ICU room. The Lieutenant was so caught in surprise he could only make a half-hearted attempt to defend himself, as he was already staggering back where he'd just come from.

The chief of the internal medicine nodded a quick hello to the security person and gave him a sign to step aside, so the doctor could enter the room after pushing Steve through the door first.

Steve stumbled inside and reluctantly took a few steps towards the bed, trying to get used to the surroundings. He hadn't been in there at all, even as he'd instructed the guard he had avoided to look through the pane in the door, thus, having had no time to prepare himself, the sight now hit him even harder. After seeing Jesse bleeding on the pavement, he hadn't thought he would be able to do this and as he noticed now, he hadn't been wrong.

Looking at the lifeless form of his friend in the hospital bed, Steve backed up against the door, but there was his dad obstructing his exit.

He was sure his heart wasn't just beating right now. Inside his head there was the full beat of a whole drum-set, hammering against his chest. Steve Sloan simply stood there, scared of taking even another step forward, feeling like a terrible coward. His whole stubborn intention to just go and catch the bad guys as fast as possible just fell off from him and he was lost in the world that he had tried to fight, in the exact feeling that had made him walk on the imagined line in the middle of the corridor. A world, where there was no difference between hope and despair, good and bad, day and night, life and death.

As Steve was standing there unable of moving, his father stepped up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know what the chances are, Steve" he said quietly. "You and I, we can go and get the bad guys, but we are not the he ones to decide over this. No matter whether we put someone into jail for this or not, it won't change the outcome. I hate to say this, son, but this time it's out of our hands. All we can do is hope and Jesse has to do the rest all by himself. I don't know how this is going to end. You tell me…" Even Mark realized that only now as he said it, almost choking on the words.

The last words were to Steve like a metaphorical hit into the solar plexus. It literally took him the air to breathe, so he just there and thought he wouldn't ever be able to move again. He had never believed in fate. All he believed in was justice and individual freedom protected by the law. He tended to ignore things there wasn't any kind of man-made or scientific law for.

Like in an out-of-body experience Steve Sloan suddenly found himself sitting on a chair next to his friend's bed with his father gone, simply eyeing the curves Jesse's heart beat was drawing sullenly on the monitor.

Mark stepped into the elevator and only as the doors closed he dared to let out sigh of weariness. He had finally taken some care of his son now, which was the main point of it all. At the presentation of the stone-cold facts Steve had seemed so lost that the last thing he needed to think about was the investigation. Mark had enough determination for the both of them to catch their man.

The older man knew his own flesh and blood and how well he could manage to burry himself under a pile of work to not face any kind of emotion. Where the heck had that kid got it from?

The doctor only had to turn and face the mirror on the elevator wall to know the answer. _Like_ _father, like son_…that was what Katherine had always said and chuckled at that time. Mark normally also laughed a little recalling the oh so true sentiment, but today it sent him down a regretful lane of sorrowful memories. It had taken him years to develop some kind of sense for when his kids were in trouble. At first he had just been a doctor, young and energetic, not really knowing what he was doing either as a medic or a husband or a father. He'd just always crossed his fingers and hoped his tactic wouldn't fail. He had mostly been right...or lucky, he didn't know. His feeling, his people-skills had only developed with every day passing.

Now, after all those years he finally possessed the experience and the routine for life he had been missing decades ago and which had only slowly grown to be a part of him. His wife had always seemed to have these skills from the very first day he'd met her. She'd always been smarter and blessed with some instinct for what was the right thing to do or say. She had known the kids and her husband better than they would have known themselves.

Now over the years of being a widower Mark had come to believe that his own instincts were finally able to make at least an acceptable substitute for Katherine's.

But as the elevator ride headed on down level for level, the gravity making itself recognizable in Mark's guts and heavy limbs, he was certain he would never be able to make up for her missing spot. Not in respect of his _own_ kids _or_ Jesse _or_ Amanda, though Katherine had died long before their time, _or_ anybody else who meant something to him.

Mark's destination, the ER, was on the ground level of the building. But as the elevator doors slid open and Dr Sloan exited, it was to him as though the ride had gone far lower, directly into the basement.

………………………………………

The guy in charge of the pharmaceutical stock at the Community General Hospital was Andy Hartman, who fitted his lonesome position behind the desk at stock entrance actually very well. Amanda was dreading to talk to him just as much as about anybody else, which was the reason, why everybody else would normally send their underlings down to get the drugs that were needed for their certain unit of the hospital. It wasn't only that Hartman was a widely known for being a misanthrope for 99 percent of the time, but that the remaining one percent of his day was –ironically- spent eating Happy Meals.

Everybody who worked at the CGH and had ever had the wonderful opportunity to drop by the house-owned stock agreed on the wide-spread opinion that Andy Hartman was the best walking example for why you shouldn't eat fast food. And even though there was a total of 12 million something people in the Los Angeles area, who could drive through a drive-in and order a Happy Meal breaking into uncontrollable giggles, there was no way for the hospital's employees to do so. Well, except for one person, of course: Andy Hartman himself.

He gave Amanda a sour glance as she approached him behind his desk. The young pathologist tried hard to keep walking straight through the dull stench of fast food that flushed towards her, forming a union with the sharp smell of antiseptics that made her sick to the stomach. As she was right before him, she could feel his looks scrutinizing her body.

Not just in respect of gender they were opposites easy to tell apart. She wasn't fairly tall, but lean, her whole body appearance –from the dark hair to the dark skin and fine features- attractive. He on the other hand was a monster of a man in both height and weight, his face grim and unpleasant with several double chins, his head almost bold.

"Dr Bentley", he muttered with the hint of a snort and caught Amanda by surprise because he actually knew her name.

"Good afternoon, Dr Hartman", she replied, still figuring out how to strike up a conversation, if that was possible, with holding her breath.

"What do you want?" His obvious interest in the answer strongly resembled to the kind of neglectfulness men usually only awarded to shoe discounts. She hesitated, not really knowing what to say.

The stocky man rolled up his eyes. "C'mon, doctor, whatever it is, let's get this over and done with. I've got some work to do here!"

Amanda found herself wondering whether that guy was married and if so, what his wife might have looked like. But since he wasn't holding politeness in very high esteem, then why did she have to? "I was actually wondering if you have a list of the pharmaceutical companies that supply our hospital with prescriptive drugs", she said firmly.

Andy pulled up his eyebrows and made a disgraceful movement that inhibited his misery of being the one and only really smart person on this planet. "If you bothered to read some of the memos you get every day on your laptop, you would know that we have only one contract with only one company, the NPHC. National Pharmaceutical Health Company."

"That's the only one?" Amanda asked.

He gave her an impatient look. "Yes…well, except for one, maybe. Dr. Dorsey gets his stuff from another company."

"How come?"

Andy shrugged. "How am I supposed to know?"

Amanda had to give that to him, he wasn't indirect. But actually the answer didn't matter much to her. The unit of plastic surgery at the CGH was partly financed from private funds, so its head, Dr W.H. Dorsey, probably had all rights to make a contract with any pharmaceutical company when he felt like it. Although plastic surgery was definitely a controversial topic, it was still a brainchild of modern medicine and way ahead of the mills of the ethical board when it came to restrictions or moralistic questions. Basically, plastic surgeons could do anything they felt like doing as long as someone was providing the money for it. And especially in Los Angeles those mentioned "someones" weren't difficult to find.

The young woman decided for a different course of interrogation. "You label the deliveries right here, when they're brought in, don't you?"

He gave her a look that declared his lack of amusement for her questions. "Yes", he grunted.

"Is there any way bottles can get mixed up and accidentally get the wrong label…maybe?" Amanda seriously considered ducking herself, fearing she'd just committed suicide.

A flash of psychotic madness crossed Andy Hartman's face, before he barked: "Sure, Dr Bentley, of course. You know, _maybe_ we are playing softball with the bottles down here or _maybe_ aliens snuck into our stock and pulled the pill containers out of the boxes and put the wrong labels on them, or _maybe_ the guys from the company just out of a bad mood put the wrong 20 by 30 inch paper on the box with the medications…for God's sake, what big time idiots do you think we are?!"

Amanda took a deep breath, reminding herself who she was doing this for and it was the only thing that kept her going right now. Andy Hartmann decidedly wasn't just as happy as his meal.


	9. Cause it's making me itch

Chapter 9

It's all I can keep saying: Thanks for sticking with it and giving those great reviews that my sloppiness doesn't deserve. I'm on fall break now, so hopefully I can speed the story up a little. Thanks for being so understanding.

All disclaimers apply.

.........................................

As Mark waited at the reception desk in the heart of the ER, his sight fell onto a little orange pill container that stood right next to the computer and was labeled with an Aspirin tag. Almost automatically he looked around to see whether someone was around it might belong to and when he couldn't make any connection, he took it. He screwed off the lid and sniffed twice over the opening, then let it sink almost disappointedly. This was Aspirin, for sure.

"Dr Sloan, I seriously hope you know you're not supposed to inhale this..." Dr Higgins stood behind him, grinning mildly at the eccentric doctor, who was known for his unorthodox methods.

At first Mark was startled. He'd been so lost in thoughts that he hadn't seen or heard anything, but –he regarded wryly- that might as well have been due to the past forty-eight hours of no sleep. He smiled back at last. "Yeah, I'm sorry, Dr Higgins, I'd better not wonder what you think of me now. But actually I was looking for you..."

The look on Higgins's features twisted from gentle humor to blank horror. "Oh God, please don't tell me there is something wrong with Dr Travis...I was in the OR...I...I know someone paged me, but I was too busy..."

"Jesse is fine..." Mark interrupted him, but in the afterthought his choice of words sickened him. "Well..." he half-heartedly gestured into the nothing, "...you know."

Higgins nodded sorrowfully. "Yeah...God, that just makes me mad. You know, it's hard enough when I get people in here who are just about as old me, and then when I know the person..." he shook his head and looked at his colleague out of his clouded brown eyes, "And you still think it wasn't a accident?"

"I'm afraid we are more certain than ever..." Mark heard himself saying.

The young man cursed under his breath. "Oh damnit! I don't get that, the people here _love_ him, it's not even normal. I bet every single person that is within a range of 10 feet around us right now has more enemies than him. That's just..." he paused, seeking fiercely for the right words, then continued with sudden weariness, "...it just makes me wanna stop believing in the good guys, you know?"

Mark nodded, knowing exactly what the other man meant.

Higgins ran a hand through his spiked up brown hair. "Well, if I can do anything..."

That reminded Mark why he'd come down here. "Actually, you can help me with a few questions."

"Okay", Higgins replied, obviously stunned by the prompt demand.

"Do you guys handle many addictives down here? People who come in, wanting painkillers, pills, anything...?"

Higgins chuckled sarcastically. "This is an ER, Mark. We wouldn't know we worked in one if it wasn't for the druggies coming in everyday..."

"What kind of stuff is one the junkies' list?"

"The junkies mostly want Demerol or Morphine. The others..."

"Others?" Mark asked, puzzled.

Higgins smiled earnestly, in slight awe for Mark's naivety. "This is Los Angeles, Mark, not everyone who takes drugs is out on the streets, wearing rags and eating from other people's garbage tons. In fact, most of them don't."

"So what is the majority?"

"Those who can afford a pool boy, but not a stay at Betty Ford's which is where they'd belong. Actors, starlets, aspiring and fallen stars. People who could have a fairly decent life with a proper job or the money they've already got, if their ego wasn't three times as huge as the Empire State Building, that is." He waited a second for his words to sink in, and then continued. "They come in here with all kinds of complaints about a hurting ankle or this or that and can name every drug they need."

"But what do they need painkillers for and why do they come here?" Mark felt the loose pieces of information rotating in his head.

"After seeing some their performances here, I understand why they need the stuff to get an audition. They come here because it's anonymous. The last thing those people need is bad press. Snatching some Valium in a drug store? Too risky. Getting professional help? To official. Then why not run into some ER, fake some pain and have some doctor write a prescription? You shouldn't underestimate the criminal energy that's behind it. They need the stuff to be interesting, to run their lives," he gestured towards the automatic doors that were between them and the street, "This is an unforgiving town..."

"So what do you guys do with them?" Mark inquired, all of sudden thanking God for not having to lead a life in the fear of becoming too boring or too 'out of the series concept'.

"We usually ask them to go or give them some milder stuff just so they will shut up..."

"Do you prescribe Codeine?"

At that question Higgins looked as though he'd just been punched into the belly. His eyes grew bigger and bigger, displaying the absurdity of Mark's question to him. "I hope you're joking. I would never ever prescribe Codeine to someone I'm suspecting to fake pain. God knows what else these people are throwing in, they could kill themselves..." The young man thought for a moment, before he added in dismay, "Not that over a longer time span they wouldn't anyway..."

Mark scanned the other doctor and saw whose regretful eyes with distress on his own. It was a remark that Higgins had made at the very beginning of their talk. About how hard it was to see people in here who were just as old as him _and who were still totally out of reach for him to help them_ Mark could read in the young man's gaze. Tyler Higgins and Jesse Travis were both in the beginning of the thirties, both extremely skilled doctors, at their fairly inexperienced age already handled as experts in their medical field, being allowed to carry a responsibility under the peers of some older colleagues who were just waiting in vain for them to trip. They were probably alpha examples of what people called success stories

And still every day in their job they looked at people who at exactly their age were almost finished with their lives mentally or physically or both.

A cry from the waiting area tore Mark away from his philosophical musings. He knew what he got to witness now was more like the everyday ER life than the untypical quietness they had been surrounded by before. A young woman tried to wrestle her way past a few security guards and interns who were blocking her way. Despite of her gaunt shape and skinny body she was putting up quite an impressing resistance to the strong men who tried to get a grip on her. "Get your dirty hands off me, you bastards!" she yelled at them, her pronunciation blurred. "I gotta see some freakin' doctor..." she babbled, losing strength with every move she made to free herself.

Cued by the demand, Higgins let out a small sign and turned around to face the scene, then looked back at Mark. "Here we go again..."

Mark frowned. "Aren't you going to treat her?"

"No, not yet. Give them a few more seconds and she will be as quiet as a mouse. We know her. She drops by every week, makes one hell of a circus and then breaks down..." Under Mark's stern look, he offered a kindred explanation, "I know it sounds cold, but as long she is doing this no one can help her anyway. It's sad, we see her every week and we don't even know her name...the interns call her Marilyn...for obvious reasons."

Dr Sloan focused once more on the young woman, who only whimpered as she was hovered on a stretcher, and indeed understood. Though her body was far from well taken care of and draped by cheap clothing, you could guess that it had once been very feminine. The remaining outlines of sexy curves were still weakly visible. The thin face showed traces of former impulsivity and fullness, her hair, albeit greasy, was still platinic blonde and wavy. That girl really had something of the young and avid Marilyn Monroe.

In the meantime, Higgins had longed for the telephone receiver, punched in a few numbers and, when he got an answer, he said: "Tell Dr Dorsey we've got one of his patients down here...well, she can't come up to his office 'cause we tied her to a stretcher...I don't care whether he is busy or not, he freaking is to come down here and take care of his patient...yeah, you can tell him that exactly!" He smashed the receiver back into the cradle and snorted.

Mark tried to catch up. "She is Dorsey's patient?!" It wasn't so much the fact that Dorsey was a plastic surgeon that threw the older man off track, but more likely that he didn't know how to imagine Dr Will Dorsey actually _taking care_ of anyone.

Higgins nodded, his face a landscape of understanding for Mark's blurting. "Yeah, it kinda knocked me off my chair, too, but, mind me, maybe under that entire smooth-smug-smeary, cut-throat competition attitude there might still be lurking a sparkle of humanity and misguided goodwill in Dorsey."

Albeit being stunned, Mark had to smile at Tyler's mockery. However, he couldn't help but throwing a curious eye at the figure of Will Dorsey who hurried out of the elevator this very moment and strode towards the curtain area on his long muscular legs. "Lurking sparkle of humanity...", he repeated to himself, tasting the oddness of the words on his tongue.

The other doctor caught his line of thoughts and raised his eyebrows. "You never know, Mark. But Jesse didn't seem too convinced either..."

The bubble around Dr Sloan's disconnected thoughts burst as though pierced with a needle and from one second to the next Mark was back on what felt like a sinking ship. "What do you mean?"

Higgins seemed confused. "He didn't tell you? He almost went up the walls when he discovered Dorsey was 'recruiting' patients from here...I must admit I also thought there was something kind of foul about it, but then again I haven't been here long enough to judge it...Doc? Everything 'kay? "

Mark found that his eyes were fixed on the curtain behind which Will Dorsey had vanished just minutes ago and gulped. "No", he muttered bitterly, "I don't think anything's okay..."

.............................................

"_Hey, Steve, what are you still doing here? I thought you and your dad were long gone home?"_

"_Yeah, well, I made the mistake of thinking the same. There must be some kind of black hole between the sign-out desk and this room that swallowed him, or he is going the whole way on his hands and backwards..."_

"_Knowing your father, I wouldn't be too surprised to find out that he is. Anyway, you have fun waiting, I'm out of here."_

"_Out as in back to the ER?"_

"_Out as in off duty...why are you looking at me like that?"_

"_Jesse Travis is going home. H-O-M-E. Next thing I know is gonna be that Ms. Piggy is running for presidency."_

"_I had an epiphany last week when my next door neighbor of three years asked me if I had just moved in 'cause he was pretty sure he'd never seen me before."_

"_Do you think Kermit is gonna be her vice?"_

"_Steve, seriously, have you ever considered seeing a doctor about this?"_

"_Jesse, I've been here for two hours, I'm bored, terribly bored. B-O-R-E-D. And..."_

"_What's the thing with you spelling everything out to me?"_

"_I was getting there: I'm bored and the only thing that's on TV is the National Cheerleading Championships."_

"_So read some magazines." _

"_I already did. I even read an article named 'The Diary of a Plastic Surgery Patient'. I know more about people with silicon implants who think in bold-print than I ever wanted to know."_

"_See ya tomorrow."_

"_According to the guy who wrote the article about polar ice melting in 'Scientific America' there most likely is no tomorrow."_

"_A shame. Bye Steve."_

"_Yeah. Bye."_

As the dream faded away and he became aware of the thin noise of beeping and whizzing around him, Steve realized that he had actually managed to doze off. Under the curtain of his closed eyelids, he tried to recapture some of the up-lifting feeling the merciful sleep had given him until he noticed in silent shock that the dream he was clinging on to hadn't been one in the first place. That scene, that whole dialogue had really happened less than 24 hours ago when Jesse had still been just as vivid and funny and full of life and Steve's biggest concern had still been the polar ice melting.

Only now the memory of it seemed even crueler and more pain-causing than the recollection of their findings in the parking lot some time later.

It wasn't the first time Steve's subconscious was playing that kind of trick on him. It had occurred before, while he had been in Vietnam, or after his mother had died, or when his dad had been imprisoned for a murder he hadn't committed, that the days before the incident would rewind in Steve's dreams.

So it was now, and as Steve struggled to wake up and gather his thoughts, he felt himself having the same notion he always had after having that kind of dream. Panicking in the odd fear that this might be some kind of Groundhog Day which he would be forced to live through again and again until the end of time and still hoping there might be a chance to alter his fate with the help of providence.

However, when he returned into the world lingering in front of his burning eyes, Steve discovered he would have to cope with the reality as it had changed during the last day. Reluctantly he accepted that he sooner or later he would have to deal not only with the present but on top of it with the undecided future, too. Not enough that he couldn't rewind time, he couldn't even hold it long enough for his mind to catch up with him. God, how much he hated not being in control of things.

This state of total dependence seemed to have him in a constant emotional headlock, preventing him from thinking and acting rationally, and thus in any way helpfully.

He looked at Jesse, partly because he didn't know where else to look, focusing on the rigid face, the chalk white cheeks, and the hollowly closed eyes. He almost couldn't bear to keep staring, but he knew looking away he would just feel as horrible, and even more like a bad friend. As he just sat there and kept watching, Steve noticed something was happening within him. The triggered rage, the uncontrollable madness at himself, at Jesse, at the whole world just emerged from his body.

The more his eyes maintained that look, the more Steve saw there was something about his friend that had stayed right where it belonged, that this was still Jesse he was looking at, no matter how tempting the thought might have been that it wasn't. It all of sudden occurred to Steve that ever since he had known Jesse there hadn't been a second he hadn't fully trusted him. Very much like Mark this man might have been messy, curious and well, weird, but in everything he was and did one heck of reliable.

There were probably worse people to cast your hopes upon, Steve thought.

After sitting for another few seconds, studying his friend's expressions, the Lieutenant got up slowly, grabbing Jesse's hand, squeezing it and releasing it again within the same motion. His dad had been right, there was nothing he could do about this.

No matter if he got those bastards and put them behind bars, it wouldn't change the outcome. But while he had been sitting in this room, haunted by nervous dreams, all he had done was wishing he could turn back the time, asking himself to be able to control something that was long out of reach.

There were people out there who were responsible for this and it was his job, his duty – as a policeman and as a friend likewise- to make them be held responsible. It was his part, he would do what had to be done. The rest was, indeed, up to Jesse. And this man would do that part just as well, Steve felt with shrinking doubts.

Today wasn't Groundhog Day. Today was Payday.

As he passed the chips eating guard outside the door, the Lieutenant only glanced at him firmly and then proceeded towards the elevator. Despite of his higher spirits, he still felt a shudder down his spine when he walked through the hallway, but this time he managed to convince himself that it was just due to the better air-conditioned main halls of the unit.

Just out of cop-mode he threw a quick look over his shoulder as he felt his back being vulnerable without the shielding Kevlar vest covering it.

He didn't notice anything uncommon; however, when he faced the front again, for some reason the image of a pair of creepily intense gray eyes was carved into his mind.

................................................

Though they hadn't arranged any meeting, the three of them arrived at the doctor's lounge at almost the same time. Mark was the first one to get there and shortly after his son was in, too. While he shyly explained that he had done some investigations, the doctor was almost afraid of looking at the Lieutenant, fearing at least an outbreak of bad temper.

Like a theatre visitor, who would close his eyes at some point in expectation of a bloody massacre and opened them some time later to find the moment of suspense had passed without exacted violence, Mark was as much surprised as relieved to notice that nothing of his story was causing a reaction apart from a few mild nods.

The next thing both father and son knew was that the air seemed to stiffen and they were choking in the scent of pure fat and plastic-wrapped cheese, the smell from old memories of times when men had no time or talent to cook and the idea for decent-tasting take-outs was still written in the stars sparkling in the night sky over the pacific.

Inwardly shaken by disgust both men tried to keep a straight face in front of Amanda, who was thoughtful enough to keep a good three yards distance to them. Still their eyes must have filled with pity at her lamentably pale sight, as she asked sullenly: "Is it that bad? I know I'm feeling like a cheeseburger, but I was kinda hoping it was just me..."

"So Hartman's still living on Happy Meals...", Mark mused, but promptly changed the subject as he realized how little it did for Amanda's comfort. "Did you find anything useful?"

She held up a list and took a small step towards them, just enough to be able to hand the papers over. "That's a list of all the people who signed out Codeine at the stock within the past three weeks. I haven't had a chance to look at it. As soon as I had it, I was on my way running. Other than that he just told me that Dr. Dorsey is the only medical head who gets his supplies from another pharmaceutical company than the rest of us."

Mark quickly scanned the lists, and then gave them to Steve, as he looked back to Amanda. "Dorsey, you say? That's funny..." He explained what Higgins had told him and summarized the scene he had got to witness down in the ER.

When he was done, Steve was done with the lists and raised his eyebrows slightly. "You know what? Look at this, Dorsey is the only one of the doctors who fetches his supplies from the stock himself. See..." His index finger pointed at the list of signatures and among the names of nurses, Dorsey was the only one on them who really was a certified doctor.

"You're right...", Mark mumbled, his look deepening on the papers. He glanced up, again his face was alight for a second or two, his worries being out-weighed by his natural curiosity before they settled back in a frown of sublime consternation. "So what does that tell us?"

"That Will Dorsey is either so dear friends with a nasty, super sized stock administrator that he needs to visit him three times a week minimum, or that his drugs mean important business to him", Amanda answered, a nauseous cough following as she smelled on her coat.

"Well, before I go and get a warrant, how likely is it to be the first mentioned?" Steve questioned earnestly, albeit knowing the reply.

Amanda pulled a face and eyed him with life-tired weariness. "I'd say it equals zero. Dorsey and Hartman are both far from winning the 'Mr. Lovely' award, but there are both so different in their unloveliness that it's hard to imagine they like each other. That's like Dr. No and Darth Vader getting into the same boat to conquer the world...God, listen to me, the fast food junk smoked my brains out!", she added hysterically, when she saw Steve biting his lip in an attempt not to find it funny.

"Alright, I get your point" the younger Sloan appeased and turned to his father whose mental presence had left them once more and only returned as he was addressed directly. "So what do you say, dad, should we have chat with him? Is Dorsey our man?"

Mark shrugged. "He might, he mightn't. It's no crime to take care of drug addicts or get your drug supplies from the stock yourself. Talking to him right now is lethal to the investigation, this way or the other. If he's our man, he would be warned and out of the country before we get our hands on something specific. If he isn't..."

"...we've made fools of ourselves, the real attacker will be off into the blue yonder and it's no good to Jess or anyone", Steve finished bluntly. He sighed deeply, ran a big hand through his uncombed hair and his icy-blue eyes stared at Mark and Amanda. "So...any ideas?"

A moment of undetermined silence was followed by Mark pulling out the container of pills once again, staring at it again as though he expected it to start talking. Then he looked up and held the bottle up like he was an actor in a cheap commercial. "We will just follow the evidence as we did before..."

It was then that a coat was tossed over one of the armchairs and Amanda was on the retreat. Before she went out, she gave both men a thin hopeful smile. "You guys go ahead and do that. I will have a shower and then go to Jesse. He surely can need someone around. Good luck!"

"Hey, your coat!", Steve yelled after her, hardly hiding his gleefulness.

Through the pane in the door the Sloans saw her walking away, then as she reacted to the sound quickly turning on her heels and just a few seconds later she stuck her head into the room and gestured at her left-behind lab-coat with a hateful glare. "You owe me. Burn it", she ordered and was out.

"Wow...", Steve's eyes had wandered into their corners as he watched her marching out. Slightly grinning, he looked back at his father. "Poor Jesse, she'll be up in his face with that forever."

Marveling at how much his son's attitude had changed within the short time he'd left him alone, Mark tried to produce a chuckle, yet it came out more politely than actually optimistically.

"Don't worry, dad", the older man heard a quiet voice next to him, "He's gonna be okay, you know him."

Mark looked up to his son and suddenly found that now he was the one seeking for acknowledgement, asking for what was going to happen. Maybe, he mused, sticking to Steve's mantra was just the best he could do right now. His mouth was dry as his whispered "Thank you."

"Thank you." Steve whispered, then straightened again, ready to get going. "So what's the next step as we follow the evidence?"

The Lieutenant watched his father getting his cell phone out of his pocket and dialing a number. Thereby the older man smiled auspiciously: "I might have an idea. You'll see..."


	10. I think I'll get out of here

Chapter 10

Ha, see how fast I can be when there is no school in the way? lol Anyway, thanks for your reviews and critical remarks. I know I'm not a huge genius at plotting, I hope you will forgive me my slight inconsistencies. Even more I'm happy that many of you still like the story! That said, read and enjoy!!

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The black Mercedes pulled out of the streaming traffic on the Santa Monica Freeway at the Venice/Santa Monica turn-off and slowly slid into heavily crowed streets of the beach area. The late afternoon sunlight was dazzlingly bright and coming from a low angle, dragging out the shadows of everything standing or moving on the surface of earth. Being reflected by millions and millions of small dust particles in the air, it seemed as though the sun was trying to shine through a thin white curtain over their heads.

Mark had insisted that they would take his car on account that Steve's was still half wrecked and therefore wasn't save to drive with until he'd bring it to the shop to have it checked. After agreeing to that, not without grinding his teeth, Steve, however, had insistent that he would drive on account that his dad basically hadn't slept in the past two days and therefore was as much an unsafe driver as Steve's car was a vehicle.

Following the directions Mark had given him, Steve steered the car along the promenade, looking for the right street to turn into. "So will you finally tell me where exactly we are going?"

"The Rising Star Café..." Mark answered, fully expecting the bewildered looks he was getting from the driver's side.

"What? Oh jeez, please say you haven't had me drive you through half LA to get a coffee when there were like three million Starbucks Cafés on the way..."

Mark chuckled, for once enjoying being the older one of them. "The 'Rising Star Café' is not a coffee shop. Not anymore. It used to be back in the sixties, but eventually it closed down. About ten years ago it was re-opened...as a homeless shelter."

"And they never changed the name?" Steve asked disbelievingly, but there was no need to answer that question. He'd pulled into 243rd street, where a block of abandoned houses did their best to make the area look as unwelcoming as possible. It was a view that was typical for any American metropolis, anonymous in its state of despair, self-hatred and its steady awareness of social injustice. None of the fifties-style built houses were very outstanding compared to the others, except for one that still had most of its window panes and was adorned with a signboard over the door, that read "Rising Star Café' in golden letters on blue ground.

Though the signboard was covered with dust and the lack peeled here and there to reveal the brittle wood among it, Steve was able to see that the dots of the i's in the word 'rising' were painted as little stars. The young Lieutenant shook his head as he looked into the deserted alleys around them. He unbuckled his seat belt and was about ready to climb out of the car, when Mark held him back.

"Wait!"

Puzzled Steve lowered himself back into the driver's seat and glanced at his father. "For what?"

"He should be here any second..."

Though fairly calmer than just hours ago, the policeman still wasn't in the mood for happy guessing games. "Dad", he sighed, "Why are we here? And don't give me that You'll See cliffhanger again, this is not Christmas and I'm not ten years old."

His gaze wandering over the worn-off gold letters, Mark's face filled with some kind of decent grief. "Before people check in at the ER, they have to fill out a form with their names and addresses, otherwise we send them away. I checked the records after talking to Higgins. Some patients named this as their address...and guess what..."

"They were Dorsey's patients?" Steve concluded, slowly beginning to see the purpose of their little expedition.

Mark nodded, his features now holding a small smile. "Not all of them, but some...and here:", he pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket like a magician pulling a bunny out of a hat, "...are their names. I copied them after Tyler was gone."

Whatever Steve wanted to say, he was lacking the words for it. After a while he just opted for shaking his head, eyeing his father with a knowing look. "You knew from the very beginning what Higgins was going to tell you, didn't you?"

Mark shrugged innocently. "I had a rough idea where the conversation would be heading, yes. But I didn't know the part where Dorsey comes in and apart from that, it's been quite a while since I worked in the ER on regular basis..."

"Man, you really gotta stop doing that to people."

"It never hurts to listen. And Amanda and I gave you a suspect, so would you stop complaining finally?"

There was nothing Steve could have replied to that, so he was glad to see his father waving at someone who approached their car from the entrance of the 'Rising Star Café'. "There he is!"

Mark got out of the car to shake hands with the man, who greeted him heartedly. By the time Steve had made his way around the car and reached them, he'd had enough time to take in the appearance of the other guy. He was in his mid-forties, averagely good-looking, but definitely a nice character whose eyes and features seemed to sparkle with an uncomplicated friendliness. Albeit being all-around clean and tidy, his clothing was nowhere business-like, just a casual cotton shirt, ripped jeans and old sneakers.

As he turned to Steve he stuck out his hand and grinned excitedly. "Lieutenant Sloan, so good to see you again!"

The word 'again' catapulted Steve into slight embarrassment. Obviously he was supposed to remember that guy, but unfortunately he didn't. He felt uncomfortably reminded of his last high school reunion when he had spent half the evening 'hey, look who is coming here, you didn't change at all'-ing himself through a crowd of people of whom he'd have sworn he had never seen them before in his life. Without a plan, he rummaged through different drawers in his brain for the right name or link. But it was like standing in front of your home door at 3 in the morning, the beginnings of a hang-over already clouding your mind, trying to produce the right key from the ring without making any noise that would cause your parents to jump out of bed straight away. (At the age of seventeen with having the statue of a football player and along with that the inevitable weight, climbing up the flower ranks hadn't been an option. And, of course, accidentally grabbing your dad's work key collection on the way out hadn't helped either.)

The man next to Mark winked friendly. "I don't blame you for not remembering me. I probably used to leave a more of a lasting impression when I was still wearing rags..."

At that moment it hit Steve and he actually did remember. "Walter!" he exclaimed surprised. "Well, it's been some time. How have you been?"

Walter's eyes glistened with happiness as he gave them a short overview of how his life had changed ever since he had met the Sloans when they had investigated in a murder case involving homeless victims. It was hard to believe that this man, who was full of life and optimism, had once lived out on the streets, basically without a tomorrow. "After you and your dad helped me, I got a job in Toronto in a sales company. Two years ago I was transferred back to Los Angeles. Whenever I have some free time, I help out here. I think it's much easier to help these people when you've once been one of them. I was so happy when your dad called me..."

Mark smiled at the younger man. "Well, thanks for returning my call so promptly..."

Walter waved it away and beamed at them. "Out of the question, you guys. It's your merit that I have a phone you could call, I practically owe my life to you. I still don't really see how I can help you, but it's my pleasure to try."

"We appreciate it."

"So, what do you say, you wanna go in?" Walter looked at both of them, reassuring that they were ready for what would be the inevitable. As Mark and Steve nodded their okay and started for the entrance, he held them back though. "Steve", he said earnestly and met the Lieutenants eyes while he gestured towards whose belt. "The badge."

It took Steve a moment to understand the implication, but then again this wasn't his first visit to a homeless shelter. "Oh", he mumbled, unclipped the LAPD badge from his waistband and stashed it in his jeans pocket. "I'm sorry."

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The inside of the "Rising Star Café" neither impressed through its furnishings nor through its flair. The air was stuffy and thick with dust and smell of sweat. The chairs, tables and beds looked as though taken from another century, and most of them were lacking essential parts to keep them together, though here and there a half-hearted attempt of fixing it was recognizable.

The worst part of it all was, as it crossed Steve's mind, that any given description of the furniture wouldn't have to be changed to become a description of the people who used it. Most of them were badly shaven and dressed in old saggy clothes. Some of them were sleeping on the beds, some were talking in undertone to others or themselves, some were eating soup out of paper cups. Standing in the middle of the room, both visitors felt their hearts going out into so many directions at the same time that it virtually tore them apart. It was the kind of misery that made you feel miserable yourself because you didn't even know where to start feeling sorry.

Still trying to digest their first impressions, Mark and Steve were abruptly absorbed by the appearance of a man who had built up in front of them, fixing them with a strange mix of fear and determination in his eyes. "Okay", he said, his hands up in the air, "I'm thinking midnight. The full moon and a quick run over the skyline, then a car speeding down the highway. Audio in-put of a 911 call and we see the car making a U-turn in the middle of the road and racing into the opposite direction. Close-up of hands on the steering wheel and feet on the pedals..." he suddenly trailed off, giving the three men a doubtful look. "Is that too much Miami Vice style, what do ya think?"

Walter shook his head, giving the ragged man a mild sorrowful smile. "No, Scotty, I think it's really intriguing. Keep working on it."

As they left Scotty behind and proceeded further into the building, Mark finally dared to ask. "What was he doing?"

"Pitching."

"What?!"

"He was pitching a script. Scotty used to be a writer, not even a bad one until the studio he was working for filed for bankruptcy. He probably could've made it, but then he turned into J.D. Salinger and became paranoid. Now he pretty much is a hopeless case..."

"Pitching a script...", Steve repeated, puffing his cheeks in an attempt to get over a shock which could only be left behind by something you would have never believed unless you saw it with your own eyes.

Next to him his dad just murmured sadly: "This is an unforgiving town..."

His gaze drifted over the scenery, over the leaden bed frames that looked like skeletons with mattresses on them, over the desolate walls and floors and over the broken people in front of them.

Walter seemed to guess his thoughts. "There is really not a lot we can do, except to provide a roof over their heads. This also gives them an address which they can name when applying for a job or so..." he almost sounded apologetically.

But his words partly remained unheard because had Mark had spotted someone on one of the beds. Between all the dirt her hair almost had the effect of a lighthouse throwing its rays out into the darkness. "Marilyn!" he said half aloud, pointing unostentatiously at her.

Walter frowned in surprise. "You know Marilyn?"

"She is one of the reasons we are here. She came into our ER this morning and had to be tied down, as she was getting violent..."

Their companion hung his head and eyed the young woman, who sat on the bed, hugging her knees with her arms and staring at the opposite wall. "Not again...I hope you're not here to arrest her."

"We just wanna talk to her", Steve quickly assured, feeling the metal of his badge pressing hard against his hip bone from the inside of his jeans pocket. "But she might be an important source for us."

Walter's face clouded visibly. "I doubt it, Steve. She hardly ever talks to anyone here, not the other guys, not the counselors and helpers or to me. Most people here think she's gone bonkers, but I guess she just wants to be left alone."

"Can you tell us her real name?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. We call her Marilyn -for obvious reasons- and she never makes the effort to correct us. She probably couldn't care less..."

Careful not to frighten her, they approached her from the side. Coming closer, Mark noticed that Marilyn was much younger than she looked from the distance. Subtracting the traces time and the life on the streets had left on her, she maybe was in her mid twenties.

"Marilyn", Walter spoke to her kindly and in a very low voice. As she turned her gorgeous eyes on them, her expressions became stiff as though she was paralyzed by a shock. It occurred to Steve that she was basically bound to feel intimidated, as three men were towering over her, looking down at her fragile figure on the bed. Her only action consisted of pulling her knees even closer to her chest, but she never took her eyes off the people in front of her.

"Marilyn, this is Mark Sloan, he is a doctor and this is his son, Steve. They want to ask you a few questions."

"Hi Marilyn...", Mark lowered himself to sit on the bed, slowly taking place at the very end far away from her to make the least threatening impression he could. She still backed away from him. "Don't be scared, I just want to talk to you. Today you were at the hospital where I work ..."

She winced and pressed her eyes closed. "I'm sorry..." she shrieked and then muttered quietly, "It was just...you know...I get mad when they don't talk to me. I told them I needed a doctor and they ignored me. I'm sorry I caused the trouble, I didn't mean to..." she pleaded, for the first time meeting Mark's view. She looked at him for a long time and examined him closely. Her eyes bored into his own so that for a moment he wasn't sure whether he could hold her gaze.

After a while of scrutinizing him her detached features softened strangely. "I know you", she mumbled. "I saw you before..."

"You saw me today?" Mark's eyes grew big. He didn't think he had been close enough to the happening for her to associate him with it.

She shook her head. "No, not today. Before. You are friends with that doctor. I saw you talking to him sometimes when I was waiting there. He used to treat me before..." she bit her lip and winced. Steve and Walter could see how the grip around her knees tightened again as her knuckles whitened.

Mark smiled mildly, hiding how his heart was being wrenched inside of him. "You mean Dr. Travis?"

As all of Marilyn's motions also her nods were reduced to minimal effort, barely enough to be visible for the human eye. Yet, Mark could see it. "Yeah", she said quietly. "He is a nice guy, your friend."

"You're right, he is a nice guy", the older man agreed.

"But today he wasn't there. He wouldn't have let them tie me down, but he wasn't...wasn't there...I'm sorry..." her big eyes filled with water and she wept silently and reluctantly.

Walter bent down next to her and spoke very calmly to her. "Marilyn, what happened? Why are you crying?"

"Can you tell us something about your new doctor?" Mark inquired. "Dr Dorsey, he is your doctor, isn't he?" But he could tell from her reaction that he was right. Marilyn flinched at the mentioning of the name and a few more uncontrolled sobs escaped her. She was such a pitiful sight that Mark could barely hold back the fatherly urge in him to hug her, but he didn't dare. She was too scared, too vulnerable, and too shut-down to be able to make a difference between honest sympathy and shady intentions.

"I...I don't like him. He is...I'm scared of him!" Marilyn blurted out, almost loudly by her means. That said, she put her forehead onto her knees and started crying into the textile of her ripped pants.

Walter, Mark and Steve exchanged short tale-telling looks before their eyes turned back on her.

"Marilyn", Mark said, putting a little more gentle force into his voice, "Why are you scared of him?"

As there came no response, also Walter tried his luck. "Marilyn..." he started, but stopped just as fast when her blonde head jerked up and a wild look hit the three of them out of a pair of tearful eyes. Her face was slightly red from crying and her voice was quivery, but she still managed to raise it high enough to have the three of them jump back and the rest of the several shelter inhabitants to lift their heads for a few seconds.

"It's _not_ fucking Marilyn, okay?! Stop calling me by that stupid name!" With that she turned her back on them, swinging her legs over the other edge of the bed.

Steve, who had kept his mouth shut during the past minutes, wished for something to dig his teeth into that would prevent him from banging his head against the wall. He could see that this wasn't getting anywhere, that the only chance they had for tracking his friend's attacker down was pulverizing itself under the pressure of a human fate. Even though just seconds ago things hadn't seemed so bad. When Marilyn had realized that they knew Jesse, she had almost lightened up and for a moment Steve had really really had the feeling they were on the right way. But now...

The Lieutenant fiercely sought for a solution to their problem and though he was very tempted to just pull his badge out and solve everything by the smooth easy way of law and order, he knew he couldn't. How could he expect these people to play by the rules of a system that had let them down? What kind of motivation did you have when you had nothing left to lose? In his eyes, there was only one way to rescue what was there to be rescued...

It was the second out-of-body experience Steve was having today and it was starting to scare him. All the time questioning himself what the heck he was doing, he found himself surrounding the bed and taking place on the one next to it across from Marilyn. Mark's and Walter's views were glued to his face, as he was trying to meet her gaze.

The younger Sloan found himself being inspected in the same way his father had been minutes ago. Only that those huge eyes now were blood-shot from crying and seemed even more terrified then before. Remaining under her steady watch, Steve spent quite some time just looking at her, considering what to do or say. He felt the tension within their exchanged glances, he knew that with what he said the whole thing would be standing or falling. And he was lacking every notion of sensing what the right thing to say would be; he just couldn't make a connection.

_Okay, think Steve, say something! One simple sentence, get her talking! _But again his brain was sending out the 3-o'clock-wrong-key error message back to him. _Jesse, she seemed to like you, help me please, what would you say? _

"What's your name?" Steve heard himself asking, and only at this moment he realized how simple and close-by the question was. For the fraction of a second he was prepared for her saying 'Norma'.

Those eyes were piercing him and he felt nervous. It seemed as though this girl was trying to see directly into his soul, and more, it seemed as though she was really able to see something there. After another phase of watchful silence, she finally smiled sheepishly.

"Maggie..." she mumbled, while her voice was so very low and thin again.

"Maggie..." Steve repeated, smiling back at her. "That's a nice name."

She blushed slightly. "Thanks", she whispered. And then she added quietly "No one ever asks me. Except for that doctor...your friend, you know. He asked what my name was and it was...like...he really seemed to care..."

Steve quickly glanced over at his father and Walter at the other side of the bed, and while Walter's only expression was a good-save-grin, his dad's smiling face was painted with genuine astonishment.

"So Maggie", Steve started, now that he had the feeling to have both feet off the thin ice. "We have a problem, you see, and you might be able to help us."

She peered at him, her eyes still holding a sparkle of doubt.

"Look" Steve went off explaining, "I promise nothing will happen to you. If you're scared of Dorsey, I'm sure we will find a way to protect you, but therefore you will have to trust me, okay? Do you think you can do that?"

Maggie hesitated and Steve, grabbing for the last straw, forced himself to grin lightly and say: "Hey, Dr. Travis is a friend of mine, and I know for a fact he'd kick my butt if he gets the word I don't keep my promises. And believe me, I don't want my best friend to get mad at me."

The young girl smiled shyly and for a moment she sniggered, before she looked at Steve and said: "You're sweet." Then she turned her head back to Mark and to a slightly reddening Steve again. "That's your dad?"

"Yeah."

Her eyes wandered back and forth between both Sloans and finally flashed them a trusting smile. "You have the same eyes."

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Mark and Steve had said their goodbyes to Walter and were back in Mark's car. It was 7 o'clock a night and the sky over Los Angeles was painted in a pinkish color as the sun was setting behind the Hollywood Hills.

Outside the car palm trees were ranking high into the up-coming night, reaching out for the not yet to be seen stars. Shifting in his car seat, Mark had to think of the script-pitching Scotty and Marilyn whose name was Maggie.

When they emerged onto the main roads, they hit the rush hour traffic. Forwarding the vehicle in walking speed as the car rows rocked ahead in a steady stop-and-go rhythm, Steve was staring at the red stop lights in front of him. Hypnotized as he was, every move that was necessary for maintaining control over the car was an automatism.

Next to him his dad was busy searching his pockets for a handkerchief. When he finally found one, he wrapped it around his fingers and only now took one of the pill containers out of the plastic bags for police evidence. All three bottles that Maggie had hesitatively agreed to hand them wore the same labels: 'Aspirin'.

Slowly and cautiously Mark broke the seal on the lid, opened the orange container and sniffed once, twice to make sure. A rueful sigh from him was all it took for the Lieutenant to know about the contents of this bottle of pills.

The whole event of getting this evidence had been soul-sapping and Steve felt so drained that he wasn't able to produce more than a dry sardonic laugh.

"That man is ruthless. Not enough that he gives out those drugs illegally, he even uses those people as drug couriers. God, that's sick..." Mark hissed through gritted teeth. He actually really felt pretty sick to his stomach, but he didn't know whether it wasn't as much due to a general need for food and sleep as to moralistic indignation.

But he just couldn't relax. He just couldn't forgive himself for not seeing what was going on, for only now asking questions which would have needed to be asked a lot earlier. Though they had a suspect and they really had a case, there were still things he wanted to know. Things that only person on this world could have known.

Also Steve felt his hands clenching around the steering wheel, as he heard his father mumble to himself: "Oh Lord, Jesse, what have you gotten yourself into?"


	11. Where I can run just as fast as I can

Chapter 11

Thanks for the reviews and I really hope you are still enjoying the story!!!

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Amanda had sat on the uncomfortable chair next to Jesse's bed for what felt like an eternity. She didn't know what time it was and had spent most of the passing hours dozing on and off, never fully leaving her friend's face out of sight, just in case that something about his condition would change for the better or –what she still feared more than anything else- for the worse.

"C'mon, Jesse", she muttered, eyeing his non-reactive figure. "Wake up...please."

Against all odds she had been hoping he might be able to hear her. But apparently he hadn't.

Not knowing what to look for, she sought for any kind of motion in his limbs, while the only thing she found was the constant raise and fall of his chest, however, she didn't know how reliable it was. Then she noticed something different about him, too, and flinched at the mere thought of where she had seen it before.

A few inches over his elbow there was a bruise that looked different to all the others. There was some kind of pattern about it. As a pathologist she knew this was an injury typical and exclusively to be found on victims of a car crash. Jesse's right arm had first hit the engine hood and the brand sign of the car had left its perfectly symmetrical form as some cuts on his arm.

It was a star with three jags, surrounded by a circle. Amanda's stomach turned as she saw the order of events in the accident before her inner eyes and for the first time she felt anger, real hatred for the person responsible for this. That person was obviously driving around in a Mercedes. And that Mercedes now had a broken star on its front.

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Dr. Will Dorsey had already left, so Steve was told by his assistant. But the Lieutenant didn't care. He had time, lots of it. He wasn't even too tired, although the only hours of sleep he'd gotten had been those at Jesse's bedside and the back lean of the chair had taken revenge on him for every chair that had ever been thrown through a one-way-mirror by an "NYPD Blue" cop within the past decade. Every time Steve moved now he kind of felt like the manly version of a Picasso painting, with every bone in his back sitting neither in the wrong nor entirely the right place. Other than being in the desperate need of a chiropractic treatment, however, he felt more or less okay.

Most definitely he was better than his father, who was a walking picture of pure physical exhaustion. Even though Mark did his best not to show it, Steve could see that the older man could hardly keep himself upright anymore. No wonder, the Lieutenant regarded, it was way over 36 hours that Mark had last had a nap. Considering everything that had happened in the meantime, it wasn't too surprising that his dad was running on almost empty batteries. No one would have expected anything different...except for Mark himself.

As he was traipsing through the hospital hallways back to the lounge, Mark was well aware of Steve's concerned looks all over him, but he was determined not to show the slightest sign of tiredness though he practically had it written all over his face. He didn't want to go to sleep, not so much because he wasn't yearning for a break, but because he didn't know what world he would find himself in when he woke up again. As he staggered towards the lounge where he knew the coffee machine would be waiting for him, Mark for the first time realized just how much he was afraid of losing someone who was like a son to him. It wasn't only that Jesse was too young, was too much of a promising man to die. All that, it seeped through Mark's foggy mind, wasn't playing a role in his biggest fear, the fear that every parent carried around in some hidden subconscious way: The fear of losing a person he loved unconditionally.

As he let his heavy form slump into the couch in the lounge, his tunnel vision widened a bit again and the doctor noticed Steve wasn't here, though he could have sworn his son had been walking only a little behind him through the hallways. But in the state he was in Mark didn't think it was impossible that Steve have excused himself to some other place and that he just hadn't heard him saying it.

That idea only made him feel worse. He couldn't seem to do anything right. Steve may have looked better than just hours ago, but that didn't change a thing about their situation. Steve had been the one to find the first hint for the investigation, Steve had been the one to do the unbelievable act of getting the things out of Maggie they needed, and on top of it he had been the one reassuring his father that everything would be okay. Wherever Steve was taking that strength and confidence from, wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

Almost disgusted by his own behavior Mark wanted to jump up and do something useful for a change, though he had no clue what, but that was the moment Dr. Higgins energetically danced into the room. "Hey doc", he greeted with a decent smile and pointed to the door. "I met Steve outside, he asked me to tell you he was coming in a second. He still had to make a call."

Mark was pretty sure Steve hadn't told him that before, but he wouldn't have vowed it. He just nodded wearily and slowly got aware of the dull throbbing in his head, a clear sign that he was way over his limits on sleep deprivation. He started massaging his temples, with Tyler eyeing him in pretty much the same reasonable concern as his son had before.

"Need something against the headache?" the younger man inquired sympathetically.

Mark agreed with a grateful nod, but bit his lip before the word 'Aspirin' came over his tongue. For definite causes he didn't feel too comfortable taking it anymore. "I think some Tylenol would do the trick..." he stammered awkwardly.

"Okay", Higgins quickly pressed a pill out of a sample foil that had appeared out of the nowhere and handed them over to Mark together with a bottle of water that was next to the coffee machine, provided for the minority of people who despised caffeine. Needless to say the bottle was still pretty much full.

Mark gulped the pill down without thinking about it as the pain got stronger and he felt he needed to control it. Once it had vanished in his stomach, he could only wait for it to kick in.

"Well, I was gonna tell you Jesse is still stable" Higgins said tonelessly and then looked at Mark curiously. "So how is the investigation coming along?"

"Oh, we're making progress..." Mark thought quickly about how much he could tell this man. Then he gave him a kind smile. "We found out Marilyn's real name...well, Steve did."

Higgins eyes grew big. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, it's Ma..." Mark had a tough time stifling a yawn, "Maggie" he finished and had to yawn again.

"Maggie...that's way cuter than Marilyn..." Tyler said thoughtfully and scrutinized Mark, who couldn't seem to stop yawning now. "Getting tired already, doc?" he asked carefully.

The older man was forcing himself to keep his eyes open, his limps were getting heavier with every second passing. "Wha...what did you give me?" he was still able to say before he fell to the side. Higgins caught him and gently placed the man on the cushion with a pillow under his head, while Mark only about managed to pull his feet up himself.

"Only a mild sedative", Tyler Higgins said, gingerly grinning. "In a few hours you will be up again and as good as new. You need to look after yourself a little bit, Jesse needs you..."

"Jess", Mark's associated, already half lost in a chaotic dream, "I once pulled this on him, too..."

Tyler couldn't help but giggle as he answered "I know, he told me". As Mark was slowly closing his eyes, he was still half aware of Higgins saying: "We are always happy to learn from the best."

A few minutes later, Steve peeked through the door and found Tyler sitting in an armchair next to his father.

"Is he out?" he whispered, as he made his way into the room.

"Lala land will be having a new citizen for the next 8 hours at least. " Higgins got up and longed for the coffee pot and poured two mugs, one for him and one for Steve.

The Lieutenant took the offered mug happily, looking at his sleeping father for a second. The thin feeling of guilt he had for tricking his dad like that was out-weighed by the peaceful sight of his father finally taking the long needed break. In the knowledge that he never would have been able to persuade Mark of taking a nap himself, Steve was convinced that in this certain case the end sanctified the means.

"Thanks for the help. Trust me, it's the only way to stop him once he gets something into his head."

Higgins leaned back in his chair. "After all I've heard about you that must be some kind of a family disease..." he said sort of amusedly, and when he saw the embarrassment grimace on the other man's face, he hurried to switch the topic. "Do you think he'll be mad once he wakes up, puts two and two together and finds out we made up this little complot?"

Steve pulled up his brows and shook his head in full certainty. "Oh, no, he won't get mad. But once this is all over, he will come up with some humiliating plan to pay it back to us. Anyway, I guess it was worth it."

For a moment they both chuckled and exchanged knowing glances. It occurred to Steve that this was the first time he was really talking to Tyler Higgins. He didn't know this man very well, but for now he liked what he saw. The only time he had really seen that young doctor before was when he'd just been out of the emergency operation on..."Listen", Steve said earnestly, "I think I never thanked you for...for what you did for Jesse."

"That's my job, Lieutenant Sloan. I trust you to do your job right so I can feel safe, and people trust me to do my job right and take care of them as good as I can. It's the choice we both made. You have nothing to thank me for", Higgins replied with a shrug and grinned. "There are good days and there are shitty days, can happen to you anywhere..."

A high-pitched beeping all of sudden tore the air and both men involuntarily flashed their pagers a look. It was Tyler to raise his hand. "Okay, that would be me. Have a nice night, and I'll tell you when there is anything new."

With that he was gone and Steve was all by himself, except for the steady sound of a thin snore from the couch. It was just 10 o'clock gone and he had a whole night of waiting just before him.

His cell phone went of and as he answered it, Tanis informed him that the check-up on Will Dorsey had revealed the doctor was driving a new model of the Mercedes S class. European and fore wheeling. And she had as well run a check on the medical company Dorsey was receiving his drug supplies from...

...................................................

Around 9 o'clock a.m. the next day Lieutenant Steve Sloan was on his way to the 4th floor of the Community General Hospital, where the Plastic Surgery Unit was. The policeman was joined by Amanda Bentley, who had given her position at the ICU to Tyler Higgins for a moment. And even though it surely wasn't anymore due to the drugs he had been given, Dr. Mark Sloan was still fast asleep on the couch, his body regaining some of the strength and energy the past days had cost him.

The partly private financing made itself pretty visible on the very first yards of the unit. It was definitely more of an eye-candy than the rest of the hospital with nice comfortable chairs and Boston Art Gallery prints on the wall in the waiting area.

"He should be back from rounds in a minute", the nurse at the front desk answered to Steve's request to talk to Dr. Dorsey urgently.

"Hey, what about me, I was here first!" a young girl with dyed blonde hair yelled at them, staggering over from the waiting area on her 5 inch high heels.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but this is pretty important. I'm sure you can wait another half an hour..." Steve said politely, but obviously it wasn't so.

"What?!" she shrieked hysterically, glaring a killer look at the tall man in front of her. For a second Steve was afraid that her skin-tight dress would burst from the extreme movement of sudden gas-exchange in her lungs. Accusingly she pointed one of her sharp long nails at him. "Do you have any clue how many auditions I'm missing while I spend my time hanging 'round here?!"

"I must admit I don't."

"Oh well, then you might wanna put your important business aside for a sec, alright?! First to be here, first to be served " she clamored loudly.

"No, I won't. I'm Lt. Sloan from the LAPD and I'm involved in an investigation, so sorry, but I don't care how important your auditions might be, I will be the first one to talk to Dr. Dorsey" Steve frowned sternly, but every word he said only got her more worked-up.

A moment later she was practically in his face, narrowing his eyes as she hissed: "Nice performance, hot-shot, how blonde do you think I am? Lieutenant...alrighty..." She paused a moment and gave him a punishing look, before she bickered, "you guys really got some nerves, walking in here and pretending you're from the police! See me, I'm shaking with fear. Now tell me, how many auditions have you flunked already?"

Steve didn't know what to be more baffled about, that she'd just called him "Hot-shot" or the fact that she really seemed to believe he was an unemployed actor. Without saying a word, he pulled out his I.D. and his badge and couldn't help but smirking as her face untwisted and took on the color of a tomato.

"I...I don't...you are really a cop!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, Miss, I am, and I'm gonna have you arrested if you don't back off right now and let me talk to Dr. Dorsey. I wonder how many auditions _that's_ going to cost you..." he smiled.

The girl snorted one last time and then started stumbling towards the exit, her over-developed curves wobbling as she was trying to hold the balance on her shoes.

Next to him Amanda had watched the whole scene with great pleasure and now was all ready for a disdainful remark: "The miracles of modern surgery!" she said, sounding like the host of a fashion show, only slightly more despicable.

Marveling at the girlie's proud bust size that flashed under her XXS shirt as she bent over to pick up her purse from a chair in the waiting area, Steve pulled up his left brow. "Those aren't real?"

"In your dreams."

The intriguing conversation was interrupted instantly as they heard fast steps behind them and as they turned around a man in white coat was jogging up to the nurse at the front desk. Looking after the blonde woman walking out, he gave his assistant a quizzical glance: "Wasn't that Linda? Why's she leaving?"

The nurse shrugged dismissively and nodded towards Steve and Amanda, which was all she did for an introduction.

The doctor shortly stared at the door in bewilderment. "Actors..." he signed, and then gave it a dry laugh. "Can't live with them, can't shoot them, right?"

Steve had never really seen Dr. Will Dorsey, but what he saw now was enough to convince him that all prejudices the world had towards plastic surgeons were united in this one man. Dorsey was tall and muscular, however, he was missing any kind of tan to give a good beach-boy appearance. Instead his skin was pale and sick-looking. His eyes were from a deep blue but their shape, along with his whole facial expression, had the detached look of a fish. When he grinned, he lips revealed two perfect lines of teeth on top and bottom of his jaw. His hairstyle consisted not so much of hair as of styling wax and was glossing in the gray hospital light.

The smile he gave Amanda and Steve was superficial. He recognized Amanda and although he didn't know him personally, he was certainly able to link Steve to the rest of a group that had always meant trouble for him.

There were barely any doctors in the hospital who were getting along well with Dorsey and the other way around, it was hardly a secret. In staff meetings and budget conferences the administrators and assistants always had one hell of a time keeping the other doctors from scratching Dorsey's eyes out and Dorsey from being so self-complacent and insulting that no one could have blamed them for doing it. Most head residents hadn't fancied the thought of having a certain unit financed privately and putting the head of the unit in charge of the money from the very beginning. Normally all money donations the hospital got were run over the hospital board for better control and no one had seen a reason for doing it differently this time. But finally Dorsey had enough board members and donators convinced that that was a terrific idea, and while he hadn't gained a lot on popularity with that, he had certainly gained some influence.

"Lieutenant Sloan, LAPD. We need to talk to you", Steve said brusquely.

Dorsey nodded with fake friendliness. "Let's go to my office."

A while later they were seated in his air-conditioned office which was an incarnation of neatness and order. Steve and Amanda had kind of expected to find themselves flanked with the pictures of countless stars and starlets, more or less famous actors, singers, models and dancers from all four walls, but there was not a single one. Instead there were more Boston Art Gallery prints of lighthouses, ships, and picturesque coastlines seamed with pines and high cliffs.

It gradually occurred to Amanda that the modesty he was lacking in the circle of his colleagues was obviously still maintained in Dorsey's work itself. Knowing that most of his patients didn't exactly advertise with their face lifts or augmentations of several body parts, the doctor reassured them of the privacy in which those procedures were performed here.

Of course, there was another side to plastic surgery. The side that was supposed to recreate what had been destroyed through accidents or severe mistreatment. Trying to revive what had already been there was perhaps a noble idea, but the trouble with it always was that people never knew when enough was enough. Scrutinizing him, it was all of a sudden pretty apparent to Amanda that Dorsey was certainly the last one to know.

"Well, what can I do for you, Lieutenant?" the doctor opened the conversation, flashing them a phony smile as he sat down on his office chair.

Steve looked at his own hands for a second, before he answered. "Dr. Dorsey, this is no question of what you can do for me. In my pocket is a warrant from the D.A. office with your name on it and fact is, no matter what you do for me, you are going to be arrested by the end of this conversation."

Bafflement washed away all the fakeness of Dorsey's expressions and his amusement faded visibly. "Of course you're gonna tell me why..." he said coolly.

Steve shrugged. "Depends..."

Next to him Amanda felt her muscles tighten. There it was, that typical Steve Sloan tone, sharp and yet intangible sarcasm.

"You have the free choice", Lieutenant Sloan continued. "Fraud, illegal drug selling, abetment to illegal drug selling, blackmailing, mistreatment of ER patients and life-threatening mayhem...you name it, I'll arrest you for it."

"What?!" Dorsey exclaimed, furiously jumping up from his chair. "What the heck are you talking about? Do you even have proofs?"

"I'm really flattered that you worry so much about how I do my work..."

The doctor laughed out angrily. "You're gonna be so sorry to have started this!"

That was the moment Amanda couldn't hold herself back any longer. Maybe it was normal to deny, but this was just too much. "No, you're the one who should be sorry!" she yelled so unexpectedly, that even Steve slightly winced at the sound. "You tried to kill an innocent man for...for what? What did Dr. Travis do to you? Did he ask you to explain why you were using Aspirin containers to refill them with Codeine? Were you scared he wouldn't stop asking questions?"

Dorsey's eyed them both, his face twisting with rage. "You two must be nuts. Why would I want to kill Dr. Travis? I hardly know him. I can't tell you what happened with those drugs or whatever, you're clearly at the wrong address..."

"Oh, you don't know what happened?" Steve asked ironically. "Well, maybe I can help you out. The so called company you are getting your drugs supplies from is a dummy company, used for money laundry and illegal drug sale. The day a doctor offered his service to them must have been like Christmas for your little buddies there. They produce prescriptive drugs and label them non-prescriptive, send them to you, and you sell them for tons and tons of private money to your private patients. And on top of it you take some junkies, who are unlucky enough to turn up at the ER, and offer them a deal to sell the drugs on the street for some pocket money. And the hospital board would never have a clue, unless..."

"...unless one of those pill containers accidentally got into the wrong hands..." Amanda finished.

Dorsey didn't know what to say or maybe he just didn't want to say anything. He just stared at them, his pale features were now ash gray, but his smoothness was still impermeable, you couldn't even guess what was going through his mind.

"Well, now that we've sorted that out", Steve started with exaggerated relaxedness, getting up from his chair, "let's get this over and done with." The handcuffs made an unmistakable clicking sound as he pulled them out of his pocket and let them snap open.

"This is so ridiculous, it's almost funny" Dorsey grumbled as he stuck out his hands to be taken into custody and read his rights.

"Well, you're not laughing, I'm not laughing, Dr. Bentley is not laughing and Maggie York wasn't laughing either when she testified against you" Steve answered sternly, hoping to hit his goal precisely.

"Who?"

"You might know her as Marilyn..."

At that remark Dorsey was almost convulsing with dry laughter and to put emphasis on how entertaining he found everything, he made an attempt of wiping the tears of amusement out of his eyes. However, he was soon reminded that with cuffed hands it maybe didn't look so much manly Starsky&Hutch style as he would have liked it.

Anyway, his mood had lightened obviously. "That's the only witness you have? The testimony of a street kid?! C'mon, you can't be serious with that..."

"You can bet your butt, I am", Steve said, purposely pulling hard on the chain that connected the cuffs on Dorsey's wrists, as he started for the door and dragged the doctor with him. "I'm no fun when I know innocent people get hurt. Especially when one of those is a friend of mine..."

"Oh, okay, I get what this is about" the man hissed, as he was pushed through the exit of his office. And just when they thought he had finally taken the American constitution's offer and decided to keep his mouth shut, Will Dorsey added gleefully, "...to know what I did or didn't do to Dr. Travis, you will need his own word. If he ever wakes up to tell you...that remains to be seen."

Amanda and Steve inwardly froze for a second as they exchanged reserved glances. Though they had known what Dorsey was capable of, they had to admit that his last words had clearly hit home.


	12. To the middle of nowhere

Chapter 12

Hey you guys. Well, school started again and volleyball kinda took its toll on my arm, I'm really sorry. But hey, at least I updated. :) Thanks again for the great reviews, they have really been pushing me, believe it or not. I know the past chapters were a lot of investigating, and from the demands in the reviews I get that I should be getting to something else...so, ah well, read it yourself, and please tell me what you think.

All disclaimers apply.

.....................................................

_Dr. Will Dorsey was cozily seated in his comfortable office chair, sipping his mochaccino and generally enjoying himself and his break. He had been in the OR the whole morning, had paid a quick visit to the ER downstairs for numerous reasons afterwards and was now back in his little empire, the Plastic Surgery Unit on the fourth level in the Community General building. This day couldn't have been nicer, if not..._

_The office door was flung open and closed a little louder than necessary. Dorsey took a short glance up from his medical magazine and sighed at the sight of the intruder. If there was such a thing as hell, Will was pretty sure he had landed in it. Like Sisyphus whose divine punishment had been to roll a rock up a hill only so it could fall down the other side, Dorsey felt that Dr. Jesse Travis was his kind of God sent burden. _

_And from the look on his face Will could guess that he wasn't here for friendly chatter. There were hardly any people in the hospital who would've indulged in a light-hearted conversation with Dorsey, but Travis looked as though he was severely disturbed by something and as far as he knew his colleague, Will had no doubt on his mind that he would tell him what that something was. _

"_Dr. Travis..." Dorsey said, hardly making it a secret that his happiness about his visitor was modest to say the least. In case there was any misunderstanding about it, though, he added, "I'm sure you get that a lot, but you really are a plague."_

_Jesse stood in front of the desk and furiously regarded the impertinence he was met with. Then he decided there was nothing that could provoke him, not this time. Dorsey had had him at the edge of reason fairly too often for his taste already. With Will's malicious behavior towards ER patients and staff, their occupational relationship had clearly been off to a bad start. But with what he knew now, it was nothing he could tolerate or make his peace with it anymore. _

_At this point Jesse had determined that a horrible end to it all was still better than an endless horror. He just had to do something. A quick motion of his hand and he had magically produced the pill container out of his lab coat, holding it accusingly before the other man's face. "I think I've got something that belongs to you..." he said firmly, trying to masquerade the insecurity he was feeling. _If one has eliminated every logical explanation, the illogical -though impossible- is inevitably right_. Hopefully Sherlock Holmes was right. _

"_Aspirin, how sweet. But thanks, I don't have a headache..." Dorsey smiled falsely. _

_Jesse snorted. "Well, you know, the funny thing is, this is not Aspirin. It's Codeine."_

_A moment of hostile silence evoked between the two men before Dorsey raised his eyebrows in badly acted expectation. "So...what?"_

"_And the other funny thing is that I found this pill container in the exam room where you'd examined one of my patients before..."_

"_I'm sorry, Dr. Travis, I don't really get what you're implying", Dorsey retorted stiffly, first traces of anger and concern evident in his tone. _

_The other man, however, showed himself fairly unimpressed. "A prescriptive drug in a container labeled for non-prescriptive drugs. You know what that looks like? I wonder where it comes from and...if there are more?" Jesse felt himself coming up speed. It was his turn of provocation now and he had to admit that he had licked blood, as he saw how Dorsey was all of a sudden acting really defensive. _

"_How would I know that?" the plastic surgeon shrugged._

_Jesse raised his eyebrows. "You tell me. I just threw a glance at the files of the ER patients you were treating against my approval and noticed that you really hand out a lot of Aspirin..."_

"_Is that a crime?" the other man asked sternly._

_The young doctor didn't know whether it was a smart thing to do what he was about to do, but he found there was no way he could have kept it to himself any longer. "No. But illegal drug sell is", he burst out._

"_Okay, that's enough, Travis!" the previously calm figure in the chair exploded, jumping to his feet and shooting his opposite a threatening glare as he raised his voice._

"_You are damn right, it is!" the other man yelled back just as furiously. "I always thought you were just an idiot, Dorsey, but I think that this time you're going too far, big time..."_

"_I don't fucking care what you think, but I think you'd better watch what you're saying. You have no evidence, you're indirectly accusing me and you are threatening me. You know what that is called? Defamation. I could sue you, you know..." Dorsey barked, his outrage growing._

"_Fine, go ahead", Jesse marched up to the desk in an aggressive manner and hit both of his hands flat on the table with the same force he would have actually liked to hit them into the other surgeon's face. _

_Albeit steaming like a kettle under hot air pressure, Dorsey managed to lower his voice again, gritting his teeth as he eyed the other doctor fiercely. "You have a pretty big mouth, Travis. I wonder what you're willing to risk, though. And what for, may I ask? You have a career, you have friends, you have a pretty easy-going life...tough sacrifice to make for a fact you can't proof. It's just your word against mine."_

_Despite feeling an intangible sickness rising from his stomach, Jesse's fury was still bigger than his intimidation. He had played along with this game far too long and he was getting tired of it, no matter how directly Dorsey might have just seen through him. As he heard these sentences seeping out of him, he could hardly believe he was saying them, it wasn't even sounding like him._

"_I just want you stay away from my patients. Up here you can do whatever you want, but stay the heck out of the ER" he growled and without saying another word he turned around and walked away, leaving Dorsey to look after him in some sort of hidden trepidation. _

_Back in the elevator, which was empty, Jesse's back collapsed against the wall and he was dizzy as though recovering from a blow to the head. This had been all the way he could go and maybe he had already gone too far. If this hadn't set the end, it was just the beginning of something. That conversation was history and gone with the wind and he still wasn't any more certain of his theory than before. Dorsey had put it quite right: It was Jesse's word against his. _

_A chill creeping down his spine, the young doctor determined that all he could do now was wait and maybe, though he had somehow little hope for it, there was a chance on waking up tomorrow and finding everything the way it should have been. _

_Tomorrow...at that point the young man didn't guess that he wouldn't get to see the following day. Or the one after it... _

...................................................

The walk to the ICU hadn't become any easier within the past five days, Mark regarded in frustration as the elevator doors slid open and he once again made his way towards the quietest of all units in the CGH. Jesse had pretty been much in the same condition all the time, not responding to their gentle callings or encouragements, just not opening his eyes.

Heading along the hallway now, Mark realized that his senses were dulled. His mind was mushroomed by elements of anxiety and hope, and after being so overwhelmed by that at first, he could hardly remember what it felt like to live without them. He'd gone through this state before, but again he was living through it like it was the first time he feared for someone he loved. It seemed that his memory had erased the current pain and depression as though both had never existed and now the trial of coping forced him to start at zero once more.

If it hadn't been for Steve, Mark wasn't sure if he would ever have allowed himself to sleep until this was over. And as he had woken up from his drugged nap a few days earlier, the world indeed had changed somewhat. Steve had arrested Dr. Will Dorsey, who by now still wasn't singing. But other than that? Nothing had changed. Normally, catching a criminal might have been enough for Dr. Mark Sloan, but this time he couldn't bring himself to feel any satisfaction.

During those five days, Mark had started to sleep more regularly, even though far from more peacefully. And from what Steve and Amanda looked like he could tell it wasn't much different for them. They slept, they ate, they went to work and yet they had all turned into ghosts, into tranquillized visitors of their own lives. Surely you could survive like that for quite some time.

Until this was over. It was the idea they were all clinging on to ever since the first night of this silent ordeal. At some point this waking nightmare just had to stop, had to leave and find its next victim. _But when?_ considered Mark pleadingly and at the same time shivered at his second thought: Did he want to know the end of it?

He met the watchful look of nurse Hope's gray eyes for a minute before he turned sideward to enter Jesse's room. He was shaking again as her glance was covering his back so intensely he could almost physically feel it.

He passed the guard at the door, who was still placed there, "just in case...". That was Steve's way of saying that he didn't trust Dorsey to the door handle of the squad room. Mark didn't know whether he should be sad or relieved.

The chair next to the bed was beginning to apply to his body form, or maybe it was the other way around. After settling on it, there was not much Mark could do. He also didn't feel like doing anything in here. He just wanted to watch and wait. And think, which he had done a lot already. There was actually not a single thought left on his mind that hadn't been thought by him so far, recapitulating every passage and fiber of his life with himself and the people he loved around him, his good and bad decisions, his good and bad luck. Sometimes he even spoke out loud, actually just whispering. The walls that surrounded his friend and him were so cold and deaf that he didn't think they would listen to him.

"Hey Jess", he said today, after a few minutes of thinking nothing. The first minutes were always the hardest, it usually took Mark some time to get familiar with the person in the hospital bed. Seeing him like this wasn't easy and every time he entered the room, all of Mark's five senses were fighting against accepting the scene, played in front of them like a movie that lacked credibility.

After a few minutes he lapsed back into realization, though, and started recognizing his friend as who he was and the red alert lamps went out. Nevertheless, Mark's heart still felt as though it was being crushed in a vice as he put his hand carefully over Jesse's weak cold fingers.

........................

Coming around from this was like swimming to the surface after being thrown into the water by a big wave that had swallowed you and your surfboard. Jesse had done that often within the past years, he knew how to deal with it. Normally.

This time, however, the suction dragging him down was stronger than everything else he had experienced before. He struggled with all his strength to fight it, but the pressure was all around him, squeezing the air out of his lungs step by step. He could hear the muffled sound of waves roaring over his head, while he was deep down here, being swept away by the cold drift, slowly giving in to a force of nature that was just stronger than him alone.

But all of sudden there was something else, like an out-weighing power to the one that was pulling him to the ground. Like the hand that pulled you out of the water after you had been washed off your board that he just had to grab to reach the air he needed so much.

Within an instant the surf had spit him out, his eyes burning as though really been flooded with salt water, his ears covered with a layer of water, his skin stinging. Even after his worst surfing tours, it had never felt so good to be aware of the weight of his body again as it felt this time. Though barely being able to breathe, to see, to hear, to feel without yet another painful stroke, Jesse couldn't remember having ever felt so alive.

_You are never as alive as in the moment you think you're dying._ True. He had really thought that this had been the end of it all. But now that his mind started to clear up, Jesse came to notice that it hadn't anywhere to do with surfing. _So what had happened? _

It came back slowly, his memory mouth-fed him with information linking to the reality. Those pills. Dorsey. That weird argument. The...car. Oh God, the car speeding towards him, hitting him. On purpose. Mark's fainting voice in the background. And where was he now?

The noise was particularly familiar, the slight muffled and in each other tangled sounds eventually separated into beeping and whizzing and Jesse didn't have to open his eyes to know his whereabouts. He got aware of the soft pressure applied around his nose and mouth, the thin rubber-like smell of the oxygen mask.

His first more or less coherent notion was to pull it off because he held the mask responsible for his incredibly dry mouth and his tongue lying in his mouth like a foreign body. But as he fought to lift his right hand he found he was too weak to press against the weight resting on it. Only now slowly being able to distinguish the edges of his body from the world outside, Jesse could feel the gentle touch of another hand that was comfortingly warm compared to his own icy cold extremities.

Having already forgotten the remains of his dream, the young man could only vaguely remember that this hand had been there before and that he was afraid of its grip loosening for some reason. But as though the hand had understood him, it tightened and Jesse actually felt his blood running through the veins in his fingers and pounding against the thin flesh of his wrist.

Somebody was there and he wanted to know who. He just wanted to see another human being and so Jesse eventually decided to open his eyes. Dazzled by the light, they first refused to focus, the blurred person in front of him only to be guessed by his contours.

As Mark had meant to sense a motion of the fingers among the palm of his hand, he at first hadn't known if he had just imagined it, if he was reacting to the same kind of physical confusion you had when you looked out of the window of a train and didn't know whether it was your train moving or just the one next to it. But the force against his hand became slightly stronger in its will to free itself.

Torn between his emotions Mark had just managed to settle on the edge of the hospital bed and then just kept staring, as his friend's eyelids flickered and then very reluctantly reacting to the dim light, that must have been horribly bright to them, the older man found two blue eyes looking at him, obviously waiting for their view to drift into focus. Then it took only instant for them to settle in a relieved look of recognition, sparkling even in all their glassiness.

For the first time in what felt like ages Mark felt himself smiling, honestly, really smiling. "Hey there..."

Jesse attempted again to get this mask off his face, this time though actively obstructed by Mark, who guessed the intention and got a gentle hold on both of his arms. The young man, as he tried to argue, realized he couldn't and threw Mark a helpless glance.

"It's okay, Jess, just take it easy. You have nothing to worry about." Mark said and then added quietly, "I'm very glad to see you."

Letting go off Jesse's wrists, he was genuinely baffled as the right hand once again made a motion to be lifted towards to the oxygen mask. "Hey!" the older doctor laughed, once again getting the hand back into position on the bed. "I don't believe that. You've come around about one minute ago and you are already on your way to winning the worst patient of the month award."

At his protégés anxious look, however, he kind of understood what was on his mind and said soothingly: "We know what happened. Nothing can happen to you, alright?"

As Jesse nodded carefully, Mark got up, knowing there were at least two people outside of this room who were in desperate need for this sort of good news. "I'll be back in a minute", he said, grinning as he walked out.

"Hey Mark...it's good to see you, too..." croaked a weak voice behind his back.

Mark had just reached out for the door handle, but as he heard this he turned to shoot Jesse a playfully sharp look. The young man had pulled the breathing mask off his face, of course, and through pain-twisted features managed to smile.

The older man tried to make a stern face as he shook his head and pointed his finger at his patient: "You'd better have this back on your face by the time I get back or you will be in serious trouble, young man!"

Before he closed the door though, he once more winked and Jesse, who had half out of obedience and half in the real need of it pulled the breathing mask over his face again.

It was when he saw the young man winking back that he felt his heart jumping back into place from a spot deep down in him and felt it return to beating in a relieved rhythm.

................................................

Dr. Tyler Higgins was doing his best to convince his colleague that there was no way that on his first day back at work he would be able to handle the ER on his own. But he had the feeling that he wasn't really succeeding. "Are you sure you can handle this on your own? I will stay here, if you need my hel..."

"Tyler, look at me!" Jesse cut him off, in no need to hear a sentence he had heard way too often within the past weeks of his recuperation. "Read my lips: I am okay."

The other man grimaced as he sought for a new argument and then threw the head of the ER a pleading glance. "But really, I mean there is an awful lot to do and..."

Jesse looked around demonstratively. There were about three people in the waiting area and half of the staff was at the reception desk, caught up in some small talk or paper work. Things that usually had to wait until they were off duty. In other words: the ER was running as slowly as it probably could have. Jesse pulled up his brows and let their surroundings speak for him.

"I...I...but when there is an emergency..." Tyler stammered helplessly.

"I went to med school for four years, I'm an emergency room doctor, I guess I can deal with it. You go ahead to..." it was only now that Jesse started to grasp what this was all about. "What exactly did Mark ask you to do?"

Tyler Higgins sighed and then reluctantly pulled his blue scrubs shirt over his head, only to reveal a brightly colored red and blue striped t-shirt under it. Scratching his head, he mumbled barely audibly: "I gotta play Ernie for the kids..."

Seeing his shamefaced colleague, Jesse's heart went out to him and he tried his best not to laugh at this truly ludicrous sight, but the corners of his mouth started wincing remarkably and his eyes filled with tears of amusement and at the beginnings of color blindness.

Tyler's eyes narrowed at the other man's obvious struggle. "I rescued your life, don't you dare to laugh at me."

Jesse nodded obediently and cleared his throat. "Okay then", he said, his voice shaking with attempts to suppress a giggle. "Have fun."

The other doctor nodded and headed off, uncomfortably looking around to roughly estimate the number of people who were already making fun of him.

Being on his own in the ER now, Jesse just shook his head and wondered what Tyler had done so that he felt obliged to do Mark that favor. And he also wondered who the other poor fellow was, who would get the questionable honor playing Bert's part.

As he had just returned to filling in a chart, another visitor approached him from the elevator, grinning in delight as he met his friend. "Hey Steve."

"Hey, Jess. Good to see you back at work, how is it going?" Steve inquired, smiling happily.

"Never been better." Jesse trailed off and quizzically peered at his friend and business partner for a second. "Got any news?"

Steve shifted on his feet, obviously regarding what to say. "The good or the bad first?"

"I'll go with the good."

"Dorsey is being charged for illegal drug sales in several cases, for violation of his medical responsibilities and for fraud. Your testimony, the one of Maggie York and other patients he treated, along with the evidence Tanis and I found will be more than enough to bring him into prison for a considerable amount of time and, of course, he will never get to practice medicine again, but...", the Lieutenant hesitated, feeling like a failure to be having to tell this to his friend.

"What is it, Steve?" Jesse asked anxiously, a silent suspicion twisting his guts.

"It doesn't look too great for the charge on life-threatening mayhem on you..." Steve said slowly, all the time trying to interpret how Jesse was taking the news.

The young man hung his head and took a deep breath. "I was afraid of something like that", he said quietly.

"I'm sorry, Jess, I did what I could, but technically the fact that Dorsey is driving a European car and that he was on duty the night you...it happened, is just not enough. The D.A. said he would do his best, but he seriously doubts it'll be enough to convince the judge...I'm really sorry", Steve muttered remorsefully.

"Steve, that's not your fault. They are right, I can't identify him and he never directly threatened me..." Jesse trailed off, briefly looked at his shoes and then met his friend's eyes again, all of sudden smiling encouragingly. "You know what, it's okay. Dorsey will get convicted for what he did, that's the main thing. I guess after everything that's happened we can be satisfied we even got that far."

Amazed at so much altruism, Steve only nodded his head, despite not whole-heartedly agreeing to it and he wasn't so certain that Jesse himself did.

"Hey", Jesse said, winking at him and wearing a thin smile, "Life goes on."

For a moment Steve felt like reminding Jesse of how close exactly that had been for him, but then that intention crumbled in awe at how well his friend was actually coping with what had happened to him. And before he could carry his doubts into the next round, he saw the frown on Jesse's forehead and out of a sixth sense knew what it meant and that he had to run and hide.

"Steve?"

He swallowed. "Yeah?"

"Is that a striped T-shirt under your shirt?"

The Lieutenant instantly was in big hurry to get to the elevator. "Erm, no. Catch you later, bye, Jess."

With that he was off and Jesse was for the second time left standing in a slow ER, and for the second time today he could hardly keep himself from breaking into uncontrollable laughter. Instead, though, he just took a deep breathe and the typical hospital smell hit his nose and caused his heart to jump joyously. The past weeks had been a strenuous road of recovery and it just felt good to be back in a place where he felt he was useful and where he belonged. Will Dorsey was still hardly ever non-present in his mind, but today Jesse was determined that nothing would spoil his good mood.

As he drew his look away from the elevator doors, that slid closed behind Steve, and turned around, the young doctor saw Mark standing behind him. They greeted each other with smiles and out of a reflex started heading for the lounge next to each other.

Jesse pointed at the elevator that had first swallowed Tyler, now Steve, and curiously watched Mark for a while. "Ernie and Bert. What did I miss?"

The older doctor chuckled and put one hand on the younger man's shoulder. "That, my dear, is a very long story. How are you holding up?"

"You saw it, I'm far from over-working myself." Jesse was silent for a second, then after short consideration blurted out: "Steve's told me that they most likely won't be able to charge Dorsey for mayhem. The evidence is just too thin..."

They walked into the lounge and longed for their mugs to fill them each.

Mark sighed as they settled on the armchairs. "Oh God. How do you feel about it?"

Jesse shrugged. "I don't know, to be honest. I can't identify him. And...If I just hadn't confronted him, that might not have happened. It was probably my own fault, I just didn't think. By the time I realized what was happening...well, you know..." he lost himself into stammers, biting his lip.

The older doctor gave the young man an urging look. "It's not your fault, Jess! He will only be convicted because of you, you were right to pursue your doubts." More gently he added then. "You gave us quite a task, though. Why didn't you just come to me?"

"I...I didn't want to drag you into this. I thought if I was right and with the influence Dorsey had...I never imagined that...I'm sorry, Mark. I didn't want you to worry..." Hearing the words emerging his mouth a small self-ironical laugh escaped Jesse directly after them. He gave Mark an excusing look that was talking volumes. "Guess I screwed that up a little bit?"

His mentor gave him a friendly grin. "Well, yes..."

And as he saw Jesse bowing his head, Mark took another sip from his coffee and his eyes twinkled mischievously. "But you know what...I would probably have done the same."

The smile both men shared then was truer than anything they could have said.

.............................................

As soon as Mark had left for his rounds, Amanda paid a visit to the lounge only to find Jesse still sitting there and looking into his the blackness of his coffee.

"Hey", she greeted.

He flashed a grin at her. "Hey, Amanda."

They had a quick exchange about their working days so far, but since fate seemed to have gone on vacation today, also the pathology was anything but busy and their topic of conversation didn't last very long.

However, all through their dialogue the young woman noticed the other person's unsettled manner of talking and obvious absent-mindedness.

"Are you okay?" she inquired and to her surprise got an unmistakable shake of his head for an answer.

Jesse had followed his good-mood-by-any-means-mantra for as long as now, but it gradually floated through his thought-packed mind that there was no way he could any longer. Something was bothering him and it wasn't just his trouble with Dorsey's conviction.

Because sensing that he was withdrawing from her, Amanda came a little closer and tried to meet his eyes. "Wanna talk about it?"

He put moisture on his lips and ran a nervous hand through his blonde hair. "This is nuts", he muttered and put his half full coffee mug down with so much force that it spilled on the table. Jesse sighed deeply. "You know, I just don't feel like...that this is the end of it all."

"What do you mean?"

"It sounds paranoid, I know, but...somehow I think that this was too easy..."

A crease emerged on Amanda's forehead. "Well, being run over by a car in order to be prevented from going to the police doesn't hit my definition of 'easy'. Especially not with you being the one in question."

"Yeah, I know you're right, but..." Jesse threw his arms in the air, lacking the ability to put his feelings into words. When he finally found something that came close enough to what he meant, he stared at her intensely as he said: "There are so many questions that no one will ever be able to answer. I just want closure. "

The young woman smiled kindly and reached out to squeeze his arm. "I understand you", she stated honestly, paused, then said, "I can't say that I know how you feel, but I understand what you mean. You just have to give it some time."

Jesse was still thinking about what he could reply other than "Thank you", but as his pager went off he simply settled for that. Before he got up, though, Amanda got a hold on his hand and forced him to look her once more as she voiced clearly:

"It _is_ over, Jess. It really is."

The young doctor wanted to believe her more than anything else, so desperately wanted to put all his faith in her words. She was right. Probably. Most likely. Certainly. To a hundred-percent.

This was the end to it all.

.........................................................

_Wasn't it?_


	13. To the middle of my frustrated fears

Chapter 13

Hey. Well, I wasn't done with the story, but since here was a small break anyway, I took a little pause. I hope you don't mind and will bear with me for a few more chapters. Thanks for all the reviews, I greatly appreciated your comments! :)

News reporter Bill Hutchison grabbed the knot on his tie once more, reassuring himself it was where it belonged, united in a straight line with the buttons of his shirt. While the camera assistant was holding a light meter next to his face and the make-up artist was taking care of powdering it, the young journalist threw a curious glance at the scene surrounding him. With the dominant building of the Los Angeles courthouse in the background, tons of news journalists from different TV stations and newspapers were preparing for the big moment. Everyone wanted to be the first to know when the jury would have come to a verdict and the court would officially be out of session. They all waited for the decision to be made whether Dr. Will Dorsey, who had pled innocent to all charges against him, would remain as a free man or would wander into prison for 8 years minimum.

Bill had to display neutrality to his TV audience, but deep down he hoped the jury would condemn Dorsey. The reporter had been following the trial around the plastic surgeon ever since it had started three months ago and he was just convinced that man was guilty. The witnesses supporting the attorney of prosecution had been believable and – and as a reporter Bill knew that was the crucial factor- definitely more sympathetic. On the witness stand Dr. Jesse Travis had given the impression of a caring, honest man who was simply trying to protect his patients, while Dr. Will Dorsey had seemed cool, detached and sarcastic all through his hearing.

Almost enviously Bill regarded that Dr. Travis was the kind of guy people just liked from the scratch, the kind of guy his mother would have been proud of. He wasn't exaggeratedly perfect or an over-affectionate good-doer. He simply appeared to be naturally kind and modest. Next to him Dr. Dorsey pretty much looked like the impersonated devil. The uprightness Travis showed was only emphasized by the fact that he refused any kind of comment to the press. Outside the wooden barriers of the witness stand the ER doctor had never lost a word about his former colleague and no matter what the journalists tried, the young man's lips seemed to be sealed.

Hutchison didn't like to admit it, but, even as dark-humored as his profession of a news reporter might have made him, he couldn't bring himself to like Dorsey either. While the evidence was already suppressing the defense's plead for innocence, it was only the margin for the portrait of two men who couldn't have formed a bigger contrast to one another. And Bill could virtually picture his mother pointing at the TV screen in her Middle West living room and saying to his dad: "Now that doc's sayin' the truth and I know a liar when I see one." And that 'doc' wouldn't be Dorsey because Dorsey just wasn't the person anyone would refer to as 'doc'.

As it was standard procedure Bill half-heartedly tried the functions of his microphone and checked the tiny flesh-colored hearing device that connected him to the studio. He was just finished when he noticed a man sprinting towards him from the corner of his eyes. It was no other than Vince Madison, their man in the courtroom. He was out, thus, the session was just about over and Vince looked as though he was running for his life.

"Bill", he yelled out of breath. However, he didn't give away the piece of information until he was very close by, no one should take advantage of the metaphorical treasure chest he carried in his mouth and mind. "Highest bid", he panted into Hutchison's left ear, the one without the hearing device. It was courtroom reporter slang, but even a layman could guess what it meant.

Alerted, reporter Bill Hutchison positioned himself in front of the camera and got aware that the others were doing the same. "Okay, I'm ready!" He gave his camera team a sign and they started filming, just as the big doors of the Los Angeles courthouse swung open.

Following the prosecutor, Dr. Dorsey emerged, flanked by a lawyer and several police officers as they were ushering him towards a parked police car. As the journalists threw themselves at the hand-cuffed man, bombarding him with questions, the doctor didn't say a single word. For a second he was very close to Bill and since the man obviously wasn't talking, the reporter tried to read something in whose features. He was surprised he couldn't find anything. Maybe he hadn't expected guilt, but yet _something_, frustration, anger, terror, perhaps even some kind of wicked pride.

Will Dorsey didn't look like someone who had just been sentenced to 10 years of imprisonment. He looked like someone who was buying his milk at the store, someone who was jogging along the beach in the morning, someone who was looking through his mail and found it was only advertisements. It was that second when his eyes shortly met Bill's that the young news reporter realized there was only one word to describe that doctor's attitude: it was indifference.

As the police car drove away and none of the reporters had gotten a statement from Dorsey, they concentrated on the more than talk-active prosecutor, but listening to that man without napping away was hardly possible. It slowly dawned the journalists that this was no fabric for a prime time story. While some of them made weak attempts of constructing a heart-wrenching story about abuse of the homeless, others took the bitter burden of really interviewing the prosecutor.

Bill and Madison, however, shrugged it off. Experienced journalists as they were, they knew that sometimes it paid to wait, though Maddy was a little more confident than his colleague. As they watched their crew packing together, Bill turned to his long time friend: "I just have the feeling I should come up with something."

A small indefinable smile curled Vince's mouth, as he said: "Wait and see. There is something in the air, I feel it, a twist within this case no one is even guessing, yet. Just keep an eye open until the wind changes."

Bill raised his eyebrows at Madison's way of expressing himself. "Your son really likes that Mary Poppins DVD you bought for him, doesn't he?"

Vince Madison, the most straight forward courtroom reporter they knew in the branch, grimaced and made an excusing face. "Yeah, I'm sorry."

The other man giggled and took his hearing device out of his ear. "C'mon", he said as they were heading towards the van they used as a crew. "Let's jump into a drive-in picture and see if we find some burgers there."

…………………………………………

"So what are you going to do with your day off?" Mark Sloan inquired as Steve took seat at the breakfast table on the Beach House deck, dressed in a pair of Bermudas and –what else- a multi-colored Hawaiian style shirt. The older doctor had no clue which recessive part of DNA had provided his flesh and blood with that kind of fashion taste, but he was pretty sure it wasn't from his side of chromosomes. On the other hand, uncle Barney had always had a weirdly strong affection for rainbow-colored jackets. (Which wouldn't have been bad, if it had been the 80's and uncle Barney's family name would have had been anywhere near Johnson.)

While his father tried his best to ignore the piece of clothing covering his son's chest, the offspring was munching his toast, obviously satisfied with the world, himself, his choice of shirts and –and that had been his biggest concern when he had gotten up- the weather. But the clouds that had been hanging over the shore just one hour ago had already given in to the bright sunshine. "You can ask some questions, dad. Look around, this is perfect surfing weather…", he paused, then fearing the worst, he asked terrified, "Why, do you have anything do for me?"

Mark chuckled, as he longed for the coffee can to refill his mug. "No, beach boy, you go ahead and enjoy yourself. You're right, the weather is beautiful. No day to be at a hospital", he said thoughtfully.

"You can say that again. By the way, if you see Jesse, tell him to come out here when his shift's over. Otherwise he's gonna be missing out on the greatest waves within the next six months."

Mark nodded, his smile decreasing into mild concern. "I guess I will. He needs to take some time off now that things are getting back to normal. The trial really took its toll on him."

Steve sighed heavily. "No wonder, with the way those damn reporters were in his face all the time. Blood suckers."

"It's been over four weeks since Dorsey's conviction. You can tell they are losing their interest by now. But anyway, I'll invite him over when I see him later on", the older Sloan sipped from his coffee one last time, and then prepared himself for leaving to work. However, he couldn't keep himself from throwing one more mournful glance at Steve's shirt.

The off-duty Lieutenant rolled his eyes at his father's look. "Oh, no. It's my shirt you're looking at, isn't it."

Mark smiled. "I'm sorry, it's just that…that…this is", he trailed off, lacking a polite equivalent to 'plain ugly' in his vocabulary.

His son grimaced in frustration. "Dad, I'm old enough to decide what I wear myself, so would you stop staring at me, please?"

Mark held up his hands, trying to appease Steve and nodding his head as he turned to go. "Alright, alright. I'm not saying anything anymore."

"I appreciate that."

"Though it looks like a kangaroo tap-danced over it."

"Bye dad."

"Bye son."

……………………………………………

Dr. Jesse Travis' knees were wobbly as he wandered through the Community General hallways in the search of Dr. Mark Sloan. He knew he had to find him as soon as possible and at same time didn't want to. He was certain he needed a second opinion on this, but the longer it took him to find his mentor he wasn't sure whether he wanted to find out what he would have to say. The dark notion swaying over his head blackened step by step and what started out as vague layer of concern slowly turned into an intangible panic.

"Good morning, Jess", it echoed through his hazy mind and as the young man focused on the person, he realized that Mark had materialized before his eyes out of the nothing. He had been so lost in thoughts that he had almost walked straight past the man he had been looking for.

"Hey Mark", he mumbled, a strange taste suddenly poisoning in his mouth.

The Head of the Internal Medicine started a happy chatter about the great weather in Malibu und awesome surf conditions, but soon cut off himself as he noticed his communication partner was completely inattentive. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah", Jesse replied unsteadily. Then he finally called himself to order and managed to sound almost normal when he said: "I'm sorry, Mark, but do you have a minute? I need a second opinion on an x-ray."

"Okay", Mark shrugged.

They found an empty examination room and Jesse put the x-ray photography in front of the lighted opal glass screens. A shady black and white picture appeared and showed the internal constellations of a human hand and its attached lower arm party. Mark narrowed his eyes in order to detect the functional problem that didn't seem very obvious at first. The delicate bone structure looked intact, none of the fragile limbs appeared to be fractured or even slightly cracked.

But with Jesse demanding another opinion in the first place, it was clear to Mark that the matter was probably harder to find, hidden deeper down in the tissue of this right hand. The older doctor scanned the photo for other abnormalities and after a while of punctual search his gaze remained on the gray complexion of the muscle tissue.

It first just acknowledged his conclusion that this extremity most likely belonged to a man, judging by the size of the hand and the development of the muscles. But then it was those muscles exactly that Mark rewarded with a big frown on his forehead.

"Do you see what I see?" Jesse said carefully, understanding that his colleague was seeing something that matched the worries he was having.

Mark sighed, not allowing his eyes to blink as he threw a really close look at the shades in the hand and elbow. Muscles weren't good to be diagnosed by the help of an x-ray, but even on this picture one could recognize that in those two places the monotone gray was branched by fine white lines. The older doctor raised his eyebrows, realizing that this was really what he had been thinking. "Growing muscle and chord rigidifications in the area of elbow and wrist", he offered his guess and didn't need more than a nod to determine that Jesse had come to the same conclusion.

"How severe, what do you think?"

Mark swayed his head. He had to admit that this wasn't something he got to see every day. "By the state of growth of the branches I'd say not long before it starts being an obstruction to the nerves which means…"

"…hardly any control over the fingers and lower arm motions. The hand is pretty much gonna be useless…" Jesse finished for him, swallowing the air in his mouth.

"There is the option of an operation", Mark argued in slight bewilderment at Jesse's absolutistic behavior. It usually wasn't the young man's way to deprive his patients of any kind of good spirit, even if the chances were not the best.

"With the risk that it'll leave the patient with no ability to move the arm at all…", the other man said with slightly aggressive undertone which he hoped to hide, but it couldn't pass Mark's ears.

The older doctor didn't know why his younger colleague was in such a snappy mood, but he felt that he had to push him back on track a little. "There is always a risk, you should know that, Jesse", he answered firmly. He gestured at the x-ray picture. "You should have the patient talk to specialist."

After a short pause, Mark finally decided to ask what he had been wondering from his very first diagnosis. "This kind of injury is pretty rare. It's typical for sports pros, first and foremost tennis players. Isn't this a case for a sports medic?"

Jesse shook his head. "No tennis, I'm afraid", Jesse walked closer and positioned himself in front of the photo, so that both he and Mark could have a close look at it. With their nose tips almost touching the screen, both men's eyes followed the invisible line Jesse's index finger was marking within the gray-white branches of the muscles tissue. "See this?"

Mark gasped when he caught sight of what was hardly to be noticed with unaided eyes. "Looks like…bone splinters", he mumbled, trying to imagine the incident when those tiny parts of the marrow had drilled themselves into the elastic tissue of the muscles, causing it to harden around them. "An injury to the arm that remained unrecognized. These pieces are so little, it would take some time until the effect of them would be detectable on an x-ray", the older man sucked in some air, a whizzing sound of stunned surprise coming along with it. "If it was an accident, it must have been months ago…"

"Exactly", Jesse replied hoarsely and something his tone caused Mark to turn his head to face him abruptly.

One look at his friend's dreading expressions had tons of thoughts at once tumble over him, a series of dwelling ideas rushed through his mind and formed themselves in only one clear order, undermined by an unsettling shock.

"Jesse, show me your hand."

And the very instant that Jesse simply stuck out his arm without the slightest quizzical look or questioning remark Mark knew he was right.

In the same terrifying moment also the younger doctor realized that he had done the math right. Only this time he had really wanted to be wrong, he had been hoping so much that he just been seeing ghosts. That was why he hadn't told Mark anything before having him diagnose the x-ray. He was certain that his friend would have felt obliged to keep his true ideas from him in order not to scare him.

Jesse's pride didn't allow that. He was a grown-up man, he needed facts, one clear statement of what the deal was. At least he had managed to convince himself that this was what we wanted. But now that he stood there, slowly grasping that he might never be able to work as a surgeon again, this adult man actually just wanted somebody to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him that everything would be alright.

Though for a fact nothing was alright. Mark saw the slight tremors running through his friend's right hand and knew that they weren't caused by nervousness. He swallowed, even though his mouth was already dry. He could, by all means, only guess how Jesse had to be feeling and he didn't know what to do.

The medic in him wanted to ask questions to get a clearer image of the situation, but on the other hand Mark could tell from Jesse's expressions that the younger man already answered all those questions for himself without a satisfying result. Even though he was supposed to do it, Mark just didn't have the heart to drill deeper into the freshly opened wound of fear that was very evident in the other doctor's features.

Looking at his own hand and feeling the uncomfortable and untypical weight of it, Jesse felt as though he was going to throw up. But since he had hardly eaten anything, he opted for producing some coherent sentences and hoped that once he had talked about it, it would all sound less terrifying.

"I first thought that it was just the trial. You know, I was so tense all the time, I really thought those tremors were only cramps and eventually they would go away. Until a week ago a nurse handed me a viol of Penicillin and I …I dropped it. She said it was her fault, but…my fingers were numb, except for my thumb I just couldn't feel them…"

Jesse realized he had been wrong. The recollection of this hadn't made it better, it had made it worse. Now there was a spinning cycle in his head and he couldn't stop it. Now his vague terror had transformed into bitter reality and along came all the musings he had banned from his mind until now. He took a deep breath and wanted to be oblivious to his own voice as he said: "That time it was just a viol, Mark. But next time it might be a syringe or a scalpel."

He trailed off, collecting his last bit of strength for admitting to what was surrounding his mind like a wall of concrete. "As it is right now I can't operate anymore, I'm a danger to the patients." Spitting out those words, Jesse had to lean against the wall for support. It wasn't just the awareness of facing what could be a severe paralysis of his right arm.

It was the fact that he had been operating, doing his job as always, even though he had been feeling the numbness and stiffness creeping through his chords and he had managed to ignore it. He had already been putting his patients into danger since he had somehow known that something was wrong.

Mark watched the younger man carefully. He only had to look into Jesse's eyes and he could feel whose agony as though it was his own.

Mark Sloan had always known that at some point in his life he wouldn't be able to practice medicine anymore. His age and the little shortcomings it brought would send him into retirement and he would have to make place for someone new. Mark didn't fancy the thought, but eventually he had come to terms with it. It was the way it went. No one was irreplaceable. And still Mark found it a dreading idea of having to voice something like "I'm a danger to my patients."

Hearing those words from Jesse didn't hurt any less. That man was young and talented, he had worked hard to get where he was. Maybe a job wasn't everything. But to Mark and Jesse it still meant a lot. Being a doctor wasn't just a question of money and prestige. It was so much more than that. It was the one part of their lives where there was no difference between what they did and what they were.

There was no way of giving up on it. Not just because Jesse was an excellent doctor, but because Mark still felt responsible for him, even though he wasn't Jesse's teacher anymore.

"So…have you considered what you want to do?" Mark finally brought the question over his lips that was burning in his soul. He didn't have to become anymore specific for his colleague to know what he was talking about.

There was the possibility of an operation, but both doctors weren't oblivious to its tremendous risks. Removing those splinters from the tissue could cause an unforeseeable damage that was even worse. The fact that the injury had only been detected now didn't make things any better. It was a dilemma, Mark could see it alright. But Jesse looked like he couldn't see anything as he stared wide-eyed into the space. Mark realized that right now he was waiting in vain for an answer.

Unable to give his situation a rational thought, Jesse just stood there dazedly. He didn't know whether to go or stay, couldn't decide whether to talk and remain silent. Those were only two of many decisions ahead of him and frankly the young doctor didn't want to make a single one of them. Jesse would have stayed in this room forever, as long as it would have saved him from ever making a decision again. It seemed to take years until Mark's inquiry even got through to him.

Slowly he shook his head and only in the action of that, he appeared to become aware of the fact that sooner or later he would have to make a decision. Accepting his fate and hoping that, if his hand didn't get better, it at least wouldn't get worse? Or taking the risk of an operation, knowing that chances were high he wouldn't be able to move his hand at all afterwards?

"I have no clue", he choked and lifted his gaze at Mark in despair.

The broken spirit in those four words almost caused the older man's heart to burst. He felt he had to do something for Jesse's and his own sake. The sense in him that reacted to that urge was after all more the sixth sense of a father than of a doctor.

"Hey", he said, leaning next to his friend against the wall. Calmly he put a hand onto the younger man's shoulder.

"It's going to be alright, son. No matter what happens, I promise, it's going to be alright."


	14. And I swear you're just like a pill

Chapter 14

Hey guys! I did some chapter splitting again, so this is shorter than normally, but otherwise it would have taken forever. Thanks for still sticking with the story and for the wonderful reviews. I know everyone including is very busy right now, so have a good time preparing for the holidays. Still hope that you will continue to enjoy this story, when you get some time to read it.

All disclaimers apply.

…………………………………………

"Well…" Dr. Nick Stone stood in front the x-ray with narrowed eyes. He was so close to it that it looked as though he wanted to crawl into it and operate from the inside out. He seemed to lose himself so much in this pictured hand that Jesse imagined he could sense whose breath on his real arm albeit knowing that the soft breeze was coming from the opened window.

Despite the fairly warm air the young man felt chilly. He saw the goosebumps on his skin and noticed he was shivering slightly. He knew it was most likely due to his blood pressure that was right now probably dropping towards zero. He had come home last night, crawled into bed and slept almost immediately, but as he had woken up again 9 hours later he had been just as whacked as before.

Jesse nervously crossed his arms before his chest and took a deep breath, hoping that the sudden rush of oxygen would help him clear his head. But for all the good it did him, he might as well have tried to hold his breath forever. His chest was so tight with fear that he had the feeling his ribs would clutch his expanding lungs and never release them again.

Seeing Jesse's face paling, Mark inwardly readied for catching his fainting friend any second now. He could actually see how the anxiety was tearing the young man apart. He wanted to help him so badly, though he knew that the only thing he could do was to be there.

Desperately he tried to make eye contact with his long time colleague Dr. Stone who was definitely taking his sweet time at diagnosing the condition of the hand. Nick was a good specialist and surgeon for those kinds of injuries. Mark relied on his judgment. And still he also knew that Nick Stone sometimes had a way of making a diagnosis a living hell for his patients.

Nick didn't want to make a mistake, knowing his opinion in this case was crucial. Like Mark he was a man of the old school when it came to medicine. However, he was all the time of the young man's eyes staring at his back, waiting for him to turn around. The air was thick with tension, all three men could sense it, even though they pretended to award all their attention simply to a medical problem.

Finally the specialist turned around and scanned his visitors, regarding how to start. "Dr Travis…", he started in a deep melodic voice that usually had a calming effect on people, this time though it was different. Jesse winced as if someone had flipped with two fingers in front his face to keep him from dozing off.

He felt the cold sweat on his forehead as he met Stone's gaze as he tried to interpret whose expression. The older doctor's features were earnest and slightly taken aback as his look wandered from Jesse to Mark and back. When Stone took a second to look at Mark, Jesse watched the exchange of silent information between the two older doctors and his heart sunk when he recognized the manner of it. It was the same kind of look he would throw at another doctor when he didn't know what to say to patient. He had never enjoyed being on either side of that wordless emergency meeting, but now he realized there was nothing worse than being the object of it.

Still seeking for a way to start, Nick finally addressed him again: "I'm sorry, Dr. Travis but it looks like your first diagnosis and the one confirmed by Dr. Sloan was perfectly right."

He waited a moment for the words to sink in and considered the paradox absurdity of the sentiment, before he continued. "It's not a very common injury for the kind of accident you described to me, but that doesn't make it impossible. From what you told me, I would say the marrow cracked at some places when the arm hit on the car and later, when your wrist and shoulder were relocated, they loosened and started to drill themselves into the muscles. The numbness you are feeling is caused by a slowly growing barrier between your muscles and the newer muscle adjunctions." Nick paused shortly to watch the reaction to what had been said so far. Dr. Sloan shared his worried glance, but the younger man just stared at him blankly.

Jesse knew they probably expected him to say something, but there were no words for him to express what he was thinking. It was as though he had been locked in a cage where the way of human communication was useless.

It occurred to Jesse that this whole situation was like a one-way-mirror. He knew there were people on the other side, who could see and hear him, who probably talked about him. And still he was only able to see himself and every time he desperately tried to make a connection to the world outside he would just meet his own frightened mirror image.

Nick stepped closer to the atypically quiet man in front of him and searched for whose gaze that was lost on the room and almost impossible to meet. It seemed to go right through his and Mark's appearance. "Dr. Travis, I need you to listen to me carefully. There are ways to treat the numbness and the stiffness with medication, but that's only limiting the damage it's still about to do. To give the muscles at least a chance to heal, we _have to_ operate."

"At what risk?" the young man looked almost stunned himself at the promptness of his reaction that none of them had counted with. He had reacted to a sublime cue, a question that had been haunting him and now finally had found its place to be voiced.

Dr. Stone swayed his head. "You are young, in good shape, there is probably no better candidate for that kind of surgery."

Jesse couldn't help it, he hated the way Stone had put this. He sounded as though he wanted him to perform the surgery instead of being the one under the knife.

Meanwhile, Nick continued. "But judging by the severe growth of the rigidifications, it still leaves you with a pretty good risk of a full paralysis of your arm and it's increasing with every day we wait. 35 to 40 percent is my calculation over the thumb."

Bang, Stone had dropped the bomb. The echo of his words remained in Jesse's and Mark's ears for a long time afterwards. Hearing those numbers, Jesse began to see black spots in his vision. Albeit having guessed it before, he couldn't say that it made it easier to accept it.

Nevertheless, he knew that it was now, this very moment that he had to make a decision. It wasn't that he hadn't made any life-changing decisions before, but he couldn't remember experiencing any of those so consciously as this one. Once he made this one, he wouldn't be able to turn around. This was his fail safe point and he had to decide whether to cross it or not.

There was only one last question left in him and he simply didn't have the energy to wrap it up in anything but bluntness. "If I want to work as a surgeon again, I have nothing to lose, right?"

He looked at Nick Stone and at his mentor Mark Sloan and all he got were two mere nods.

…………………………………………

Both doctors walked out of Nick's office and back to the lounge. All the time they walked next to each other, their hands stuffed into the pockets of their pants, the taller older man and at his side the younger smaller man.

Only when the got to the lounge and found it empty, Jesse dared to look at Mark. He didn't know what he wanted to see less in whose face, disappointment or approval. It wasn't so much the lack of tolerance for his decision he was afraid of as the pure realization that the decision itself was final.

"Feeling a little better?" the older man inquired carefully.

In all his confusion Jesse produced a weary smile without even knowing where it came from.

He shook his head. For some reason he didn't feel like lying to anyone right now. "No, I don't. It's more like…" He took a moment of consideration. What _was_ it like? "It's like five minutes after the take-off, when you are in the air and you wait for your ears to pop, but for some reason they don't…"

Both men chuckled absent-minded as they settled down in the armchairs. The silence emerging from their inability to come up with a topic for a conversation was only broken when Jesse mumbled in consternation.

"40 percent…I must be nuts."

Mark gave him an encouraging grin, which was still full of understanding. He knew that he had to be careful about applying either too much optimism or pessimism. Both wouldn't have been helpful and, more important, not very fair to his friend.

"Who says you have to belong the 40 percent?" he asked simply.

"Who says I'm gonna belong to the other 60?" Jesse shot back, but Mark was prepared for that. He had been thinking about that reply before, in Nick's room, but now the right moment seemed to have come.

"You remember your first day at med school? Remember the very first thing they told you there?"

Jesse stared at his mentor for a second, trying to recall. The very first thing, the very first impression they had given him. And even before his memory had really dug it out, he muttered: "Look at your neighbor…"

Mark winked at him as he started imitating the voice and tone of a professor. "Look at your neighbor to the left and to the right. Look at him carefully because by the time you graduate one of you won't be here anymore…you heard me alright, ladies and gentlemen, 50 percent of you won't make it through the next four years of training."

The younger man smiled bewilderedly. "Oh yeah, I do remember." And it really was as present now as it had been years ago. Only now it was weirder, looking at it from the distance of quite a few years in between. The very first impression, the very first notion of his medical training had been the image of failure and it had never really gone away.

Mark was now ready for making his final point. "What made you so sure you didn't belong to the other 50 percent back then?" he half questioned, half stated.

The younger man shrugged. "I don't know. I think I was never sure."

Mark smiled kindly and after a few seconds a sparkle flickered in Jesse's eyes and he managed to smile back.

For the first time since he had looked at the x-ray of his hand, Jesse felt something like hope. There seemed to be a crack in the one-way-mirror, a part that was see-through. He had something to look at without being confronted by his own frustrated fears the very instant he focused on it.

"Thanks", the younger man whispered, barely audibly.

……………………………………………………

Two days later it was already 9 o' clock p.m. gone when Mark was starting to get worried. Nick Stone had scheduled the surgery on Jesse's arm for the next morning. But Jesse was nowhere to be found.

Mark had tried to call his friend's cell phone more than a dozen times, whose pager about twice as often and when all hopes failed that he might be at the hospital, the older man had even tried his apartment number.

It wasn't that he feared Jesse wouldn't turn up the next morning that put a knot in Mark's guts. He believed he knew his former student at least well enough to predict that would never happen. But he still understood the stress level the young man was bearing right now had to be extreme and he didn't want him to cope with it all on his own.

Walking along the hallway, Mark met two equally worried eyes belonging to Amanda.

"Have you found him?", he asked, though he could already foresee the answer.

She shook her head no. "I really don't think he is at the hospital, Mark. We searched this place ten times at least, there is no way he can be hiding anywhere."

Mark sighed in dismay. "I don't believe that. He is not answering his phone or his cell or his pager. What in God's name is he thinking?!"

The young pathologist gave the older doctor a concerned look. She wasn't used to be confronted with impatience from his character and knew it was a sign of Mark being worried sick. "Calm down, Mark. He will turn up sooner or later, I'm sure. Maybe we should give him and us a break…"

Saying those words she gently took his arm and led him towards the lounge. She only hoped she'd be able to beat out enough time for Steve to find Jesse.

In her despair she had calledthe Lieutenantearlier, wondering whether he might have a clue where the younger doctor could be. She was convinced that in this respect, Steve was probably the one to know best what was going on inside of Jesse. Even though normally both men didn't have a lot in common, they both shared an affinity for dealing with their problems alone and only very reluctantly agreed to accepting help from anybody.

After listening to her pleads, theyounger Sloanhad promised her immediately that he wouldn't come back without his friend. And Amanda was had no doubt he would keep his promise.


	15. Instead of making me better

Chapter 15

Hey, everyone. Hope you had a nice Christmas and have cool plans for New Year's Eve! I'm sorry about the delay again, Christmas and finals somehow took up more time than I thought they would. Anyway, here it is, the new chapter. Thanks for your reviews, I appreciated them a great deal as always. Anyway, please R&R and enjoy (not in that order, obviously).

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It really didn't take long for Steve to find Jesse. He hadn't even had to think about where to look for a very long time. Just following a feeling in his stomach, he had simply went to the place he himself always went to when he wanted to be left alone. What was it about the BBQ Bob's that had the effect of a strong magnetic field when you didn't know where else to go?

Under other circumstances Steve might have considered the beach, but it had been raining for the past few days, so the landscape out there was wet, cold and rather dreary. Still, one would have thought that a restaurant after closing hour was hardly an equivalent for the smooth and calming beauty of Malibu beach. However, the Lieutenant regarded his restaurant as one and he knew that his business partner did the same.

But actually it wasn't so much the places themselves, but their wonderful quietness. No matter whether you looked at an ocean or you were wiping dried coffee rings off the counter, it was something you could always do when you really didn't feel like doing anything else. You could just be alone with whatever you wanted to think about without having to explain it to anybody.

Every pore in Steve's body bristled against entering the restaurant. It was like intruding someone else's head and knowing how it felt to be on the receiving side of uncomfortable help, Steve could sense that Jesse probably wouldn't be too pleased to see him.

But he had promised it to Amanda and he had to admit he himself was pretty worried about Jesse. They hadn't talked much about Jesse's condition or what it might mean for whose future. All Steve knew about the surgery was what Amanda or his father had told him. His best friend, though normally being the first one to give out information more than freely, had remained as talk-active as a stone wall in respect of that matter.

So Steve swallowed the awkward taste he had on his tongue and simply went to the front door. It was locked, but as one of the co-owners the Lieutenant also owned a set of keys which he pulled out now. Seeing the place alight, he might as well have knocked, but he didn't want to startle his friend.

Steve and Jesse were the only people who had keys to this place and when Jesse was inside and heard the key being turned in the lock, he would know who it was.

The chairs were stacked up on the tables, the floors already cleaned. Jesse was sitting at the counter, the accounting books in front of him. It was a sight almost as though it was a usual night when they were closing for the day, but something about this picture was wrong. It took Steve a moment to realize what disturbed him, but the second he saw it his heart skipped at beat.

He was used to see Jesse with a filled coffee mug next to him, but not with what was on the counter now. The moment he became aware of the whole impact of this scenery Steve was bewildered. He didn't know what to say. He didn't even know what it was that he felt. He could see Jesse's dilemma too well as to be disappointed by him. And he could picture his friend's situation well enough as not to be surprised.

It was just so out of character, so totally out of this world, that Steve needed to look twice to make sure it was his friend sitting there. And even when his eyes had made sure, there was still a part of him left that wanted to ask for an ID to be absolutely certain.

Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe this glass sitting on the counter, filled with something that most definitely wasn't coffee, belonged to a costumer who had left a short time ago. And if the other glasses hadn't been in neat order on the shelves already, Steve maybe would have been able to convince himself of that theory. But somehow he knew that he could trust his eyes.

The Lieutenant saw it, but he couldn't believe it. What on earth could provoke a man like Jesse to think that alcohol would be a solution? Only now he grasped it so clearly, just as though all this was novel he was reading for the second time.

Steve had never before thought about how bad things really were. Slowly, very slowly, he moved forward. Jesse didn't react to his approach in any way; he just kept staring at a page of the accounting book. The page that was still blank, Steve could see that now that as he was getting closer.

Also, the strong smell from the glass on the counter added to his first guess. It was most likely scotch. Without a word his first action was to put a hand around the glass, pulling it out of reach from his friend, waiting in horror for Jesse to grab the glass, to obstruct him from taking it away.

However, Jesse connived. Steve held the glass under his nose shortly and grimaced at the scent. Definitely scotch. And not even with ice. He was still thinking about what he could say when he heard someone mumble:

"You can have it…"

The older man looked at the younger one with a frown, as Jesse all of sudden glanced up from the book. "I haven't even sipped on it, yet, you can have it, if you want to."

Steve smiled sarcastically and couldn't help the grim tone in his voice. "Thanks, but no, I still gotta drive…"

Jesse nodded. "Thought so", he muttered, rubbing his left hand through his face. He didn't understand anymore what he was doing. He hadn't actually wanted to be that snappy, but he hoped on some subconscious level that, if he got Steve to be mad at him, he would at least be left alone. He didn't want to be asked questions anymore. He knew they would be coming from his friend and he couldn't even say he hadn't provoked them. He practically already heard the lecture Steve was about to give him, the questions he was going to ask.

_What had he been thinking? Did he really think alcohol would make it any better? Why did he act like that? Why didn't he just talk to anyone?_

Knowing that every single one of those questions was actually justified, Jesse didn't dare to look at Steve. He felt ashamed of himself, even though he had done nothing wrong so far. It hadn't been a lie when he had told his friend he hadn't even sipped on the scotch, yet. He had probably had the intention, but every time he had tried some weird kind of self-disgust had kept him from doing it. And now it was that same disgust that couldn't make him face his best friend anymore.

Steve had a million of questions whelming up in him, but he knew better than to believe Jesse would answer only one of them when he asked them directly. Instead, he surrounded the counter in silence and poured the scotch out of the glass into the sink. He stood for a while and watched the liquid vanish in the drain, thinking there was no better place for it to go.

Then he returned to the other side of the counter and sat down on the chair next to his friend. To his relief the young man really didn't smell of alcohol. Maybe it wasn't all that bad, it crossed his mind in a short second of enthusiasm.

However, his newly won confidence shriveled as he examined Jesse's look. It seemed as blank as the accounting book page in front of them.

Steve had the feeling that this was probably the time to share his wisdom of a lifetime of unsettling confusion. And he gladly would have, if he had known what to say, that was. Fact was that right now he, though he was the older one by all mathematical approaches, felt much younger, younger than Jesse even, young and really left in the dark.

Both men sat at the counter of their restaurant for a while, not speaking, intangible despair lingering over their heads. It was like a fridge with broken light, it occurred to Steve. You could rummage around in it as long as you wanted, as long as you didn't exactly know what you were looking for, there was no getting anywhere.

_Jeez, you couldn't think of a less sophisticated image while your friend's having trouble, could you?_

When the Lieutenant was still apologizing to his thoughts for their own likes, there all of sudden was a real voice tearing the air of humble manly silence.

"Help me, Steve", Jesse whispered, with a gasp that sounded as though he'd just been punched into the stomach. He hadn't intended to say it, at least not yet. He still wanted to be left alone, but there was one notion which had just struck him with incredible force: What would he have done, if Steve hadn't come in?

Jesse had never been very fond of any kind of recreational drugs. But it didn't take a psychologist to tell him, that there was a point for every even so strong-willed person when one could just keel over under pressure. But in the ER he had seen so many awful things that had been done under the influence of alcohol. _Shouldn't you know bloody better? _Something inside himself was all of a sudden raging against him.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore, I'm about to go nuts!" the younger man finally admitted warily, praying for his bad conscience to shut up.

For a moment Steve was taken aback. This direct pleading for help threw him completely off track with his concept, as far as it had existed in the first place.

He took some time to think about what to reply and then decided for the same blunt honesty he had been met with. There was just nothing else he felt capable of handling. "Jess, you are _not_ going nuts. You are just _scared_, who wouldn't be? I just don't understand, why…" he gestured wildly into the direction of the empty glass, banning any reproach from his voice and expressions. He sensed that it would hardly be helpful to give his friend all that how-could-you?-Face-the-reality-you-won't-solve-your-problems-that-way-I'm-so-disappointed-by-you-stuff, which you automatically tended to launch as soon as they discovered any kind of startling behavior about their friends.

But what was there left to demand then?

"Why …why didn't you at least put ice into it?" Steve asked in despair, as if the presence of some low-percent liquid really would have changed the situation a great deal.

Jesse shrugged, thereby chuckling sadly. "I didn't care too much about it, I suppose…" he mumbled. There was no mistaking the hint in his friend's bewilderedness. He shook his head. "God, this is ridiculous…"

"I don't see anything funny about it…" Steve said sternly.

Jesse gave him a look that the Lieutenant was hopeless to interpret. If anything was hidden in it, it was trepidation, fear, a very wry kind of self-tormenting amusement even. But all in all the doctor's gaze was locked totally to a point in between those emotions. The younger man took a second before he started to talk: "It's just a job after all. It's not like I'm going to die or anything. It's just whether I can work as a doctor again or not. Other people would laugh if they had my kind of problems. I can't believe it, just look at me…"

"Jess…" Steve attempted to interrupt, but Jesse continued unimpressed.

"I see people every day who have real problems, who are suffering, and I can't even face a minor thing like this…"

"Jess…" If the topic had been any other, Steve would have heard himself sniggering. Rambling the passionate way he did, Jesse sounded a little more like himself at least.

"…and here I am, a totally self-centered idiot who behaves like a spoiled three-year-old…"

"Je-heeesssss", Steve's voice grew sharper, but he was far from being successful.

"The only thing I care about is me and my job, I'm…", Jesse's words got stuck in his throat as the previously spoken sentence hit home. In disbelieve and horror he stared at Steve. "God", he mumbled in shock. "I've turned into my father."

Uttering a swear, the young man let his head sink onto the counter, feeling only a little better when his warm forehead hit the cold wooden surface of it. "This is worse than I thought…" he muttered with frustration.

As Jesse was cursing his genes, there was an awkward comedy about it, but Steve knew his friend was dead serious. While the Lieutenant belonged to the people who admired their fathers and sometimes wished they would be a little more like them, the young doctor was within the lines of those who didn't want to be anything like their own fathers at all.

While Steve felt he couldn't say much to make his friend feel better, he thought of an action to at least show that he could understand Jesse quite well. Reaching into his jacket it only took him the fracture of a second to locate the holster and with a motion of routine he pulled out his weapon and put it on the counter. After that he unclipped the LAPD badge from his belt and put it next to the gun.

Straightening up, Jesse studied the accessories for a moment. "I don't think cop would be my job alternative to go for…" he deadpanned slyly, before he met his friend's eyes in confusion. "Why are you carrying those around anyway, I thought your shift was over…"

Steve cocked an eyebrow as Jesse slowly got the point he was making. "So much for being obsessed with your job" the police man said dryly.

The two of smiled a conspiring smile at each other for a second.

Then Jesse sighed. "You know what's weird?" he shot Steve a look of revealing honesty and said: "I never really thought I wanted to be a doctor. I just majored in medicine to get my mother off my back. Otherwise she'd have never stopped telling me that I was doing everything wrong…not that she ever did anyway, for that matter."

He gave it a bitter laugh, which sent a shudder down Steve's spine. He hardly knew his friend so resentful, but he kept quiet about it.

"It could just as well have turned out to be the worst decision I ever made. But I happened to love it. I really like…being a doctor", Jesse admitted, for a moment uncertain whether to use the past tense or not. Out of a sudden rush of stubbornness he decided against it.

"Well, I'm glad you do because I would have made a terrible one. Dad would have lost his hairs over it…" Steve said. The next second he looked surprised at what he had just given away, and blushed slightly.

He had always loved being a cop, but sometimes he just couldn't help but to feel guilty about not becoming a doctor. He knew how much it would have meant to his father, though Mark would have never forced his kids into any role they didn't want. The fact that his dad had accepted his decision with so much tolerance and affection had even made it harder for Steve, though, it sometimes made him want to crumble with awe.

At first Jesse was slightly confused at what could be rated as an eruption of emotions, by the means of Steve Sloan at least. Then he suddenly noticed a strange bond between them, one he had never noticed before. He had always believed Steve had been the lucky one of them, with having always someone behind his back, having a father who loved him unconditionally and over-affectionately.

It had never occurred to him that Steve had ever been under the pressure of pleasing any expectations set upon him. That he might have felt obliged to become a doctor to make his father happy.

"You are a great cop", Jesse said truthfully, and added with a small smile, "and I'm not just saying that because you're armed."

At that they sniggered mildly.

Independent from each other, both Steve and Jesse found themselves musing how strange is was that two men with so different backgrounds had ended up in the same dilemma, torn between their own wants and those of the ones they loved. One of them had solved it by stubbornly doing what no one thought he was capable of, while the other one had shrugged off all ties and walked a new path, convinced it was the right thing to do.

On the long run that was how they had ended up here, in their jobs, as friends, as business partners, and in some odd way as brothers.

The silence that lapsed over them was long, but peaceful, not filled with the same kind of hopelessness as in the beginning.

Steve was the first one to speak after a while, clearing his throat. "It's going to be alright. You should concentrate on the surgery being a success, not on what happens when it isn't."

Jesse shot him a glance and giggled. "You know, that's exactly the same Amanda and your father told me about two dozen times yesterday." He paused, before he eagerly looked at Steve. "I'm sick and tired of doctor speeches, Steve. Please don't give me another one…"

Steve looked almost relieved. For as long as he'd lived he had wished for once being on the giving instead of receiving end of such a speech, but now that he was actually entitled to give one, it didn't feel very good. Coming out of him, it hadn't even sounded very comforting, only incredibly patronizing.

And once again he found that he had nothing to offer his friend but simple honesty. "Fine", he started, slowly clambering off his chair. "I think that you are a good doctor, and that Dorsey idiot shouldn't be getting the flowers for setting an end to that. Don't give him the pleasure of messing up your life like this, you're better than that. Is that more like it?"

"Much better", Jesse grinned.

Steve grinned back as he put his gun back into its holster and clipped the badge onto his belt again. Feeling the atmosphere of departure, Jesse frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

Now the young doctor was down-right confused. "Like…alone? I thought you were only out to get me back to the hospital."

Steve smiled gently as he shook his head. "Jess, you're a grown-up man, I'm not making you go anywhere you don't want to go. I know you wanna be left alone. Don't worry about my dad and Amanda, I'll tell them you're okay and you will be there in time tomorrow."

Jesse nodded, lacking the words or gestures to express his gratitude for having a friend like this one. He was speechless at the loyalty Steve was displaying, at the same time cringing with shame for his stupid and neglectful behavior in the beginning. "What about…" _'that I almost managed to get jarred because of my self-pity?'_ That was how he had originally meant to end the sentence. But all he was able to produce was a remorseful glance towards the empty glass on the counter.

The Lieutenant smiled knowingly. "If I ever catch you doing this again, I _am_ going to make a speech, and it's going to be long and horrible and marrow sucking and draining and it will bore you comatose and you will find yourself yearning for one of my dad's lectures, have I made myself clear?", he replied earnestly. Then his tone softened, as he added: "Just come to me before you do anything stupid, okay?" _because I couldn't bear it if something happened to you_. The last part he said only to himself.

Jesse didn't need to hear the rest anyway to get the underlying message. He nodded.

As Steve put his hand on the door handle and waved his friend a good-bye, Jesse suddenly hopped from his chair, almost in his old cheery manner.

"Wait, Steve, I'm coming with you."


	16. You keep making me ill

Chapter 16

Happy New Year!

Disclaimers apply. In addition, I have to admit that probably (hopefully) you wouldn't be able find a team of surgeons like mine on this planet. This chapter is devoted to all the people (doctors and patients) who were so kind to share their OR horror stories with me which were within the range of totally insane to hysterically funny. I have no clue how much truth is in them, though. But you'll see what all this is about.

Thanks for your support! I means a lot to me! :)

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Jesse hadn't looked at the ceiling of an OR since he had been 6 years old. The memory of that last time, when his appendix had been taken out, was very vague and hazy. By the time they had wheeled him into the OR back then, he had been so out of his head from the pain, the previous throwing up and the anxiety that he had hardly realized what was happening to him.

This time it was different and yet, he felt almost more fearful and yielded up as he had as a kid. Deprived of any control over what was about to happen within the upcoming hours, his fantasies about everything that _could_ happen screamed with ear-bleeding noise in his head. He had tried everything to sooth his worries, every technique he had ever learned to calm down a patient. But they wouldn't work for him.

He kept telling himself that he was in the best hands, Nick and his team would take good care of him, that those were professionals who knew what they were doing, and that the chances of a comet crashing down on Los Angeles within the next couple of hours were slim anyway. And still there was a part of his brain, which refused its agreement to any rationality. To distract himself, Jesse tried to concentrate on the ceiling, but that didn't do him any good either. OR ceilings all looked the same, most of all boring, they didn't have many cracks to count either. For a moment the young man felt the urge to complain to somebody about the bright letters on it, which read _You're not in charge, nanananananaaaa!_, but then it occurred to him those probably weren't really there.

Now desperately seeking for some kind of distraction, he decided to look around in the OR. He hardly knew the people working here or the surroundings, though in the dim light and shady light blue made everything kind of look the same. Jesse had never worked with Nick or any of the staff here. The ER surgeons mostly used the OR area in the west wing, while these rooms were located in the newly built east wing of the Community General. These OR s were completely new territory to him and by now Jesse was almost glad he had been wheeled here because he might have gotten lost on the way otherwise.

He had tried to bargain Nick and Mark down to let him at least walk into the OR on his own two feet, but with saying "I'm your doctor and the answer is no!" Nick had had an overwhelmingly convincing point.

The team of surgeons, apart from Nick himself, entered one after another in short intervals, pushing the doors open by half leaning against them. Holding their hands in shoulder-high position to indicate they were disinfected and not to come in touch with anything until the rubber of the gloves would safely cover them. At the mere entering act Jesse could feel a lump in his throat as he recalled why he was here.

Nick Stone would be performing the surgery, assisted by an older grumpy guy everyone called Drake, and Tyler Higgins. Jesse hadn't known about the last part until his colleague from downstairs marched up to the table, his eyes twinkling happily.

"Jeez, you look pale", he stated the obvious, and Jesse could see him grinning even under the mouth and nose covering mask. "Scared?"

"What are you doing here?" Jesse inquired, not really in the mood to answer the question.

"Making sure they don't accidentally cut out your liver or something", Tyler answered jokily and when he noticed the patient wasn't really sharing the laugh, he added more earnestly:

"Don't worry, Mark asked me to look after you a little bit. Actually half of the ER asked me because they couldn't cram two dozen people in here, you know."

For a moment Jesse actually felt a little better. He didn't like to admit it, but he appreciated someone worrying about him and not having to go through this on his own. The good feeling lasted about 30 seconds, and then quickly ebbed away, as someone yelled loudly: "Anybody know where Betsy is?!" and some other voice mumbled something about Betsy getting the blood reserves, just in case.

Jesse knew it was standard procedure for any kind of surgery where you had to operate anywhere close to the sensitively thin veins in the wrists, and still he felt his heart beating against his chest frantically.

He closed his eyes. He just wanted it all to be over. Yearning to finally sink into the deep dreamless sleep of anesthesia, Jesse reopened his eyes, wondering where the anesthetist was.

As if on cue another figure appeared this second at the head of the operation table. For a quick meet and greet he bent over and Jesse saw two dark eyes studying his face with a mischievous, yet friendly expression. "Hey there! I'm Terence, pleased to meet ya." He said it with the tone of an air hostess.

"Jesse Travis", Jesse tried a smile, however, he found himself failing.

Terence eyes grew big. "Wow, it's you!"

_Yes indeed, talk about bad luck_, Jesse thought sarcastically.

"I saw you performing an emergency bypass once in my last year of university", Terence continued excitedly, "You rocked."

Jesse was flattered for the fraction of a second, and then suddenly felt just really old. It was true, he had been a doctor for quite a few years now. His guts started knotting again and, to occupy his mind, he was wondering slightly how Terence rating system worked. There had only been one time when he had performed a bypass in front of students and at that time the patient had died, if he remembered correctly.

Terence, in the meanwhile, was getting into further details of his own medical career. "I really thought about becoming an ER doctor, but unfortunately I can't see blood, ya know", he declared casually.

Jesse couldn't believe what he was hearing. He felt the cold sweat break on his forehead, his heart racing at the speed of an over-winding car engine.

"Terence!" Drake's voice roared next to them, as he stomped over, looking as though he was going to slap the anesthetist over the head. The younger man was almost choking on his giggles.

Drake threw at Jesse what was probably supposed to be an apologizing glance, while the doctor on the table slowly came to realize the other one was kidding.

"Don't mind him, he's a bloody idiot. He pulls that joke on every patient, someday he is gonna give somebody a heart attack", the older man growled.

"C'mon, it was funny. You should have seen the look on his face", Terence was bursting with laughter. Only as he realized that no one else was laughing, he straightened up and mumbled sulkily: "Lighten up, guys, this ain't a funeral." Then he sat on his chair and started checking his monitors.

In the meantime, Drake shot Jesse another glance and all of sudden asked brusquely: "Which one?"

"What?" Jesse was confused.

Drake rolled his eyes. "Just wiggle the arm once, so we can mark it."

Jesse swallowed hard as he lifted his right arm shortly. His fingers cramped at the attempt of moving them and the sensation of thousand ripping fibers ran through his lower arm party. Drake got a tight hold of his wrist, yelling "This one!" to a nurse who came over with a marker and drew a little x on the upper right arm.

Standard procedure and still it was like a nightmare. A surgeon marking the part of the body he was going to slice open was like watching a fire fighter reading the operating instructions for the fire extinguisher, only three times more nerve-wrecking. Of course, it was just to make sure errors were excluded. How else could they be sure? A doctor had too many patients a day to exactly remember who was troubled by his right and who by his left arm. Jesse had to admit that working in the ER couldn't be compared to the work up here. Down in the ER the amounts of blood were mostly indicating clearly which body part you were supposed to operate on.

If Jesse's arm had _looked_ hurt by the time they had wheeled _him_ in months ago, they might have done something about it, too. But this injury had been so little he hadn't even noticed it himself at first. You couldn't tell from looking at two perfectly healthy arms which one was hurt. If he had been able to, for all he knew, he wouldn't be here, Jesse thought sadly, before Drake's tenor tore him out of his thoughts.

"Where're you from?"

"Huh?"

Drake rolled his eyes and Jesse looked shamefully.

"You aren't from California, are ya?" Drake enquired, thereby glancing at the opposite wall where Jesse assumed the X-rays to hang.

He didn't really know what it mattered, but he was too afraid of this big version of a grouch not to answer. "Illinois..."

"Illinois-bred…" Drake mumbled, though he said it with such a heavy accent, that it might as well have been 'Illinois brat'. Considering, though,that he was about to cut around on the inside of his arm very soon, Jesse was very willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Back in the 50s the Chicago General was among the best hospitals in the United States, would you believe it?" Drake launched back into history, throwing Jesse a questioning look.

"I…I don't know, I wasn't born, yet", Jesse managed to utter. _Please don't hurt me._

Disembodied sniggers echoed from the walls, and the young man braced himself for being thumped, but Drake simply threw him an appalled glance and then went to scan the x-rays more closely.

Wondering again, if these people were planning on ever starting with the surgery, Jesse tried to lie back, which was easy due to the circumstances, and relax, which was a little more difficult. He felt as though he had been here forever, but as he eyed the watch over the entrance door, he noticed with bafflement that it had only been a few minutes actually.

The doctors had, in the meantime, broken into a fight about which music was to be put into the CD player. Obviously, Drake's vote was for Joni Mitchell, while Tyler wanted Bon Jovi and Terence, what else, Britney Spears.

The bits and pieces Jesse picked up would have been quite amusing under normal conditions, but right now he felt like the surprise guest on the Muppet show, just a lot more anxious.

"We are not listening to that!"

"But she's hot!"

"We don't have visual here, I'm sorry…"

"Anyway, I'm not gonna listen to your old people music."

"We never get to listen to music in the ER, can we listen to Bon Jovi, can we?"

"Oh please…"

The swinging door was opened and in came Nick Stone, strolling towards the operation table, where Jesse started feeling really tearful. The older doctor gave the younger man a calming glance. "From the color of your skin I understand you've already gotten to know my team…look at them, they even managed to drag Higgins along…", he opened the conversation, winking at his patient. "Don't worry, their knowledge of medicine is better than their people-skills…" he shortly stopped to overhear the state of their quarrellings, then added dryly, "or their taste of music."

He frowned at the three arguing doctors in the far corner of the room, then raised his voice over theirs and shouted: "Billy Holiday it is, and the first one who complains is going to be sent to bed without dinner!"

"Alrighty, boss." Terence. No doubt.

Nick turned back to Jesse with a confident sparkle in his eyes. "I bet you never have that much fun in the ER…"

"Hardly…" Jesse replied politely. _At least not that kind of fun._

Nick nodded with satisfaction. "I know it sounds weird, but I really love working here. Though I remember, when I was your age, I sometimes wished I'd gone into ER surgery…"

"You are not going to tell me you can't see blood, are you?" Jesse managed to mumble faintly.

Bewilderment rose in Stone's face, before he got the half-heartedly presented joke and laughed out shortly. "Oh jeez, I really have to apologize for those numbskulls. But you know what? I've come to think of it as a pretty good strategy. By the time our patients drift off into narcosis they are so scared for their lives that they have totally forgotten to worry about what they are here for in the first place."

Jesse had to agree that, in that respect, their mission had definitely been a success. He had hardly thought about what was in for the game here. Right now, all he wished for was this whole ordeal to be over. All he wanted to do was to sink into unconsciousness and, if this wasn't too much asked, wake up from it again.

Dr. Nick Stone threw a searching look around. "Aren't we missing anyone?"

The staff members glanced at each other and shrugged, but it was this very moment the door swung open again and in walked a nurse. "Sorry" she mumbled, as the others threw her reproachful glances.

From his disadvantaged position on the operation table, the young man wasn't able to see much of her, but for a moment he got aware of two intense gray eyes holding his gaze, and then dropping it quickly. He knew those eyes. Everybody knew them.

"What are you doing here?" Tyler inquired roughly, staring, _glaring_, at her. His whole body had stiffened, if shortly, at her entrance.

"Rachel wasn't feeling well, she asked me to take over", the voice belonging to those bluely glistening diamonds answered.

"Fine then, so we can start. Ready, Dr. Travis?" Nick glimpsed around and finally came to hold Jesse's look. He was definitely talking business.

"I guess so", the young man mumbled insecurely, his voice raspy, his body tensing even against his will.

Tyler, having lapsed back into remarkable relaxedness after his previous outbreak, took his position and met the eyes of his colleague. "Any last thoughts or wishes?" he asked kindly.

Coming to think of it, there was actually something on Jesse's mind: "Yeah. Remind me of this if I ever complain about the ER staff again, will you?"

"That's the attitude!" Tyler beamed under his mask.

"Okay, Jesse, you know the drill. Try to relax and count back from 20…"

"I can make it 15, if you want to…" offered the crazy anesthetist.

"Knock it off, Terence!"

Jesse closed his eyes and attempted to free his brain from any kinds of thoughts. It had been a long time that he had consciously felt the effects of a narcosis. He remembered that they had told him to count back from 20 back then, but it had been quite a thing to ask from a 6 year old child under the influence of strong constant pain from the right abdominal area.

20…

Already he became aware of the weight of his own body.

19…

If they went on at that speed, Terence would beat him to the ten.

18…

The sleep crept through his veins…

17…

…and settled in his limbs.

16…

The blood steadily pounded through his ears, his heartbeat slowing.

15…

His body was struggling with the overwhelming force of fatigue…

14…

…out of a reflex it seemed to have mobilized all reserves against the heavy fist of tiredness.

13…

Every part of him was aching with weariness now…

12…

…and there was no way he could have still opened his eyes, even if he'd wanted to.

11…

The background sounds had vanished totally…

10…

Drake's and Nick's voices faded into each other, becoming a sullen tenor of distant mumbles…

9…

Someone said: "Hey, Mark, we're just about starting…"

8…

It had sounded as though being shouted through several closed doors, but later it was the last thing Jesse should remember darkly.

7…

Nothing mattered anymore. It was all the same, a mixture of undistinguished thoughts, voices, first a mess, then just homogeneity of life around him.

6…

Not a spark of resistance left in him.

5…

Pushed to the edge, dancing on the margin, lapsing into the final thick darkness.

4…

His body was totally giving in to the sleep, releasing his muscles from any tension, heaving steady breaths, the anesthesia erasing his consciousness.

3…

2…

1…

"He is out."

"Okay, get prepared. If he's stable, we'll start…"


	17. I haven't moved from where you left me

_Author's note: I'd never planned on continuing this story. The last chapter was supposed to be an open end, I never meant to write more. From some of the wonderful reviews I got I sensed that some of you felt it needed a better end, so I started thinking. Now –after a few short months lol- I've got the feeling I have one. It'll take me a few more chapters to develop it, though, so it's more like a sequel actually. I hope you'll put up with it and find it more satisfying this time. I'm really sorry for taking so long, but I don't like to do thing half-heartedly, so I didn't want to continue until I knew what was happening (or if anything was happening at all). I really really hope you like the result of my endless pondering. _

_I don't expect anyone to still remember what's happened before and maybe you don't want to reread everything, so I'll give you a short summary of events to jog your memory: _

_One night Jesse is hit by car in the parking lot of the CGH and severely hurt. Pretty soon it becomes clear that it wasn't just a terrible accident, but a planned attack on his life. While the young doctor remains in a coma for several days, Mark, Steve and Amanda find out the possible motive: It seems like one of the doctors at the hospital –Dr. Will Dorsey- is involved in illegal drug sell. With a little help from an old friend they are finally able to gather the evidence to arrest Dorsey and bring him court. _

_Jesse has woken up and recovered from his trauma. He is back to work, when –several months later- he realizes that the car "accident" has left him with an undiscovered injury in his arm which now threatening to ruin his career. After some struggles, Jesse decides to take the risk of a surgery to save his arm from paralysis. He almost feels confident about the surgery…if it wasn't for the last ten minutes of being awake in the OR. With the count down from 20 we've left the story…_

…_and return just a little later. _

_Enjoy! _

Chapter 17

As Jesse started to wake up, he couldn't help but feeling that he'd slept for days, months even. There was a barrier between him and the real world, an invisible pillow that muffled noises, a camera that slowed motions, a glue that paralyzed his tongue. It was an utterly uncomfortable, yet somehow known feeling which still wore the after-taste of what his physical being had endured during the past hours. It was as though his body had saved up some of the ordeal exclusively for him and was now presenting it to his mind, relentlessly reproachful.

_Hey, don't think you'd get around this by skipping into anesthesia. You and I, buddy, we're an item. If you jump, I'll jump, Jack, we're in this all together_, his body seemed to be snarling as yet another flash of dizziness subdued all efforts of getting a clear view.

_You'll so get this back. Next time I get mad I'll give the command to hit a fist against a wall so hard that you won't know what's hit you,_ his mind replied grumpily, fighting the fogginess.

_You always say that. If I got a penny for every time you say that after waking up on the couch in the doctor's lounge, I could make a living without you._

_Yeah right! You wouldn't stand a day without me. _

Jesse was beginning to feel desperate. As much as he tried, he just wasn't able to focus on anything. Blurred contours appeared in front of him and an echoing voice was saying his name. It took a few moments until voice and picture melted into one and became a concerned looking Mark with Nick Stone standing a few feet behind him.

The young man realized that he must've been staring at them for quite some time without reacting as he was overcoming his own physical borders. Only now that he could see clearly he could finally give as much as a responding nod. The two doctors smiled, relieved.

"Are you feeling okay?" Mark asked.

"I feel like I felt the morning after our first college party", Jesse replied. The words would only come out of his mouth reluctantly and in a slurring manner. The young man noticed not without a trace of shame that he wasn't lying. He was really feeling sort of hung-over.

Nick laughed his belly-laughter. "I'm sure Terence will appreciate this, there's probably no greater compliment for him."

Then he grew serious as quickly as he noticed his patient giving him a frightful, questioning look. Jesse didn't need to mention his arm, Nick knew it, he'd heard the question so often, and he'd hear it before it'd leave a patient's mouth.

"The surgery went well. It wasn't easy, but they never are under these circumstances. You know the final result is still about to show, but due to what I've seen during the surgery and to your condition I'm optimistic", he smiled confidently, "and you have every reason to be, too."

He turned to leave the room, but in the door he paused, turned back and grinned. "Plus: you've got a good sense of humor."

"And what's that got to do with it?" Jesse asked, confusion all over his face.

Nick shrugged. "Call it medical superstition, but for some reason people with a good sense of humor heal better. I don't know why. It's just the way it is…" With that he waved a good-bye and strolled out.

"Weird guy", Jesse mumbled, feeling partially anxious and relaxed at the same time.

Mark gave him an almost indignant look. "Weirder than I am?" he asked, playfully hurt.

The younger man cocked both eyebrows, hoping to look seriously considerate, in spite of his otherwise lamentable state. "Let's see: he doesn't roller skate, he doesn't rap, he didn't pull candy out of my ear. I'd say there isn't even the hint of a chance for him."

Both men giggled shortly, but became quiet again as the air was tight with something else Jesse wanted to say, but didn't know how. He hesitated, before he looked at his mentor and simply uttered: "Thank you."

"What for?" Mark asked kindly.

Jesse shrugged. "I don't know. Being a friend."

At that the older doctor smiled broadly. "In that case it was my pleasure."

"Okay, what do we have?" Jesse asked, running next to the stretcher that was wheeled next to him towards the trauma room by two paramedics.

"Male, mid-twenties. Car accident, was slammed between steering wheel and seat, they had to saw him out. Mild concussion, cuts, bruises, possibly broken ribs and inner bleedings, no signs of injuries to his spine. When he was conscious he said his knee was hurting, it might be a slight fracture. Blood pressure 70/50, pulse slow and weak" one of the paramedics rattled off his whole list.

"Alright…" the ER surgeon had listened to everything carefully and now started to give clear sharp commands. He wasn't done yet, when the young man suddenly opened his eyes and observed his surroundings with the sort of weary look that stated he didn't have a clue what was happening to him. His blue eyes were fixed on the young doctor and for a second he looked familiar, even though Jesse was sure he'd never seen him before.

"Hey, can you hear me? You are in hospital", he said to his patient as calmly as he could between all the whizzing and beeping of the machines and his staff rushing around, following his orders. "You will be okay", he added reassuringly, almost yelled it as he saw the young man closing his eyes again.

"Doctor, blood pressure is now 60/30 and dropping…" a nurse informed him.

"He is bleeding internally, I think it might be the liver", Jesse replied, putting his right hand on his patient's torso.

Then he realized he couldn't feel it. As first he thought the all of a sudden restricted sensation in his finger tips was due to the rubber gloves. But within seconds it hit him that he couldn't feel anything, he wasn't even able to estimate how much pressure he was currently applying to his patient's abdomen. Jesse felt the cold sweat breaking on his forehead, his heart started to beat frantically in his chest. Time slowed down around him, the edges of his view became blurry.

"Doctor?"

He was barely aware of a nurse holding out a scalpel to him. She was obviously guessing that the expression of utter horror on his face was caused by what he'd just diagnosed and now she was handing him the instruments for the surgery.

But Jesse couldn't bring his arm to move up and take it. Quite literally it was paralyzed and it was worse than in the past. When it had happened in the beginning his hand would cramp up for a short time, mostly not more than a few fractures of a second. But now the feeling just wouldn't return, no matter how much he wanted to force it back into his arm. His shoulder and everything downwards attached to it simply remained limp and just wasn't responding.

The nurse was staring at the young doctor, not quite sure what to do, when the loud beeps of a machine tore the air apart and…

…… Jesse jerked awake. Eyes wide open, he was lying on his back, breathing heavily, his heart pumping blood through his body as though it was to save his life. The ceiling he was looking at was the one of his own bedroom as he lay like nailed to the mattress, heaving every breath while he waited for his pulse to return back to normal. Drops of sweat from his forehead were rolling down his face and into his eyes, where they left a stingy feeling.

When the remains of his nightmare had passed after a few minutes, Jesse slowly sat up, wiping the back of his right hand over his eyes and forehead. Then he stared at the palm of this very hand that was completely intact, but whose failure kept haunting him in his dreams. He couldn't figure out what was wrong with him.

After the surgery a few weeks ago the process of recuperating and rehabilitation had developed better than anyone –including Jesse- had expected. He'd started rehab only a few days after he'd been out of hospital, as soon as Nick and Mark had approved it. Within only 8 weeks he had regained almost full range of sensation and motion ability in his fingers, wrist and lower arm party. During the last 6 weeks also the strength had returned to his right side when he had finally been able to work out again. 3 weeks ago he'd started to work at the hospital again, even though he'd only treated the smaller injuries and supervised the interns, while he left the handling of the trauma cases to Tyler and the others.

Last week Nick had acknowledged without hiding his respect for the strong-willed doctor that the rehabilitation process was over. "Your hand is as good as new", he'd said to Jesse and stretched out his own right hand to shake the one of his soon-not-to-be-anymore-patient. The young man's heart had almost leaped with relief.

For all he knew Jesse should have been the happiest person in the world. Then why wasn't he? He'd come so close to losing his job that he loved so much and he'd got it back. The prospect of working again had kept him going, even when sometimes after his rehab-workout his arm would feel as though it'd been maltreated with some sort of torture instrument and the next morning as though he'd been resting it on gravel.

But the second it had hit him that he'd be able to work in the trauma room from next week on his joy had turned into an incredible nausea. The dream he'd had occasionally during the past weeks now almost haunted him every night.

_What the hell was wrong with him? _Jesse continued to stare into the darkness, listening to the air coming into his lungs and leaving and wondered how it was possible that he, as a doctor, wasn't able to conclude a diagnosis from his own symptoms.

The mere thought of performing an emergency surgery –_any_ surgery as a matter of fact- filled him with a strong, yet hardly locatable sickness originating somewhere within his body. He'd feel his heart thumping against his ribs, his breaths go heavy, a roaring noise in his ears. His hands would become sweaty, as the images of this dream would flash past him over and over again, carving this picture of his inability to move into his brain. His clear mind was hazy, scrapes of unfinished notions flickering like confetti and then channeling in only one big thought, repeating itself: _I can't do it, I'm going to fail, I can't do it, I really really can not do it! I'm too…_

_scared!_…It hit Jesse like a flying brick into the face. He _was _scared, scared beyond belief. It was the sort of fear that'd just leave you staring into space with hollow eyes, the sort of fear that'd wipe out a clear thought and convert everything you knew into a pitch-black hole. It didn't matter that Jesse kept reasoning himself that he was fine, that nothing could go wrong and none of his former skills had left him. Fear still got the better part of him.

Of course, he'd been scared of failing before, but never in this paralyzing, force-breaking kind of way. As a student, as an intern he'd occasionally used it as an engine. For as long as he'd known fear, it'd had always made him better than he was, not worse.

But this new sort of fear was like a blockade in his mind and he didn't know how to handle it. He was aware of the fact that sometime, somehow he'd have to confront it, better sooner than later. However, the will to do so had left him almost completely. As soon as he tried to set himself apart from it, the magnetism of it became stronger than ever, the images of failing even clearer.

A glance at his alarm clock told him it was 4.30 a.m. In 3 hours he'd have to get up and go to work. Sighing, Jesse crawled back under his blanket and closed his eyes, hoping to gain at least a few hours of a blissfully dreamless slumber. As he was drifting back to sleep he told himself the most popular and yet biggest lie among all of those lies you need to calm yourself: _It'll go away…eventually. Maybe, when I wake up, it's not gonna be there anymore._

_NOT the end. _


	18. This must be a bad trip

Chapter 18

As Steve trotted up the stairs this morning, he was –even though shaved, showered, combed and fully dressed- still half asleep. He didn't know how people managed to be in a good mood before 10.30 a.m. Maybe it was a gene that he hadn't got. Whenever people addressed him before he hadn't had at least a cup of coffee, ten minutes of fresh air and a bagel, it took him all of his inane strength to force open his mouth and respond with more than a grim grumble.

Needless to say he went straight for the coffee machine, wishing his father something one could barely identify as a "Good Morning" as he made his way past the kitchen table, where Mark Sloan was already done with his breakfast. When the Lieutenant had filled a mug with the black steaming liquid, he returned to the living room, and after he'd taken a few sips, his mood had lightened considerably. At least for as long as until he looked more closely at his father.

Mark's sat stone-faced at the living room table, a mug of coffee in the grab of both of his hands. Steve frowned: "Dad, what's…" Then he saw the reason for the sullen mood and his own face became ashen.

"Oh no", Steve whispered, throwing his dad a horrified look, "Don't tell me it's time for it again?"

"I'm sorry, but it looks like that", Mark replied, taking another sad sip of his half-cold coffee.

Steve let himself sink onto the chair next to his father. His body was suddenly drained of all energy. His expressions were stern and his still gestures were filled with despair and trepidation. After a moment of silence, the younger man said with an almost trembling voice: "But…this can't be true. It feels to me as though it was only yesterday that we did them last time."

"I'm afraid it's not", Mark answered, eyeing his son carefully.

Grimly, Steve stood up from his chair and quietly left the room. Mark heard his steps on the stairs, sounds of rumbling and rummaging on the floor below him, some swearing and cussing under his son's breath, a few big bangs, and a cupboard door closing loudly and very soon Steve was on the stairs again, taking every step boisterously.

Then he was back in the living room, carrying two seemingly huge shoe boxes in his big hands. He put the boxes on the table next to the other two shoe boxes Mark had put there before and been staring at for a good half an hour by now. Steve slumped onto his chair, groaned and took a big sip from his coffee mug.

That way they sat there in silent depression, the minutes ticking past, looking at those shoe boxes that seemed to grow from year to year, just to mock them.

When Mark was finished with his coffee, he spoke out what they both knew, but didn't dare to think about: "We will _have to_ do them."

Steve nodded, reluctantly acknowledging the fact. "God, how I hate this…" he grumbled.

"It's going to be awful", Mark said in a low voice, sorrow also gaining the better part of him. "It always is."

"Excruciating…"

"Petrifying…"

"Torturous…"

"Soul-sapping…"

Steve's look clouded further. "Every year I think that this must have been when _Blood, Sweat_ _and Tears_ came up with their name."

Mark was nagging his lip, then all of sudden a ray of light seemed to run over his face. "You know what?" he asked, tapping the tip of his nose with his index finger. "It's just like golf."

"Golf! What does this have to do with golf?" Steve replied, still bad tempered.

"The principle is the same. The reason why people can't play golf is because they think too much. The biggest barrier is in your own head. Once you let it go and find the rhythm of the game it's totally at ease. We have the same problem. We _think _this is going to be awful, so it _is _going to be awful. If we find the rhythm, then maybe…"

Steve smiled sarcastically. "Snap, the job's a game?"

Mark was astonished. "How did you know?"

The younger man shook his head in a mixture of amusement and frustration. "With all due respect to your profound sports allegories…only because it works for Tiger Woods it doesn't mean this is going to work for us. And have you ever considered watching other movies than _Mary Poppins_ on the Disney Channel?"

His father pulled a face, sulking a bit. "It was an idea, though…We wouldn't have to sing _A Spoonful of Sugar_…"

Steve let out a cynical whistle through his clenched teeth and pointed at their shoe boxes. "If we ate all the sugar it'd take to make this in any way delightful, we'd get diabetes."

The two of them sighed. Father and son kept gazing at their shoe boxes, waiting for a miracle to happen as they did every year. It was clear to them that this problem, different to many others, couldn't be solved by waiting for it to pass eventually. It could only be solved by being taken on…

…or being put off, relentlessly. "We could do it tonight", Steve suggested, sensing his father brightening up. "We'll meet at the Bob's, get a couple of ribs, sit down and do this…"

"Good idea", Mark grinned, relief written all over his face. "We'll eat something, and go through it in the meanwhile…"

"Without stress…" Steve added.

"Totally without stress" Mark confirmed.

"It's gonna be all relaxed…" the younger Sloan was coming up speed.

"We are not going to give ourselves a heart attack…" the older one agreed energetically.

All of a sudden the mood had shifted; the air around them became lighter. Grinning, both of them got up, each took their boxes from the table and got ready to leave for work. As they'd left the house and went to their cars, where they stashed the boxes in the backs, Steve turned to his father and said slightly too enthusiastically: "You know, it might not even take so long!"

"Don't get carried away!" Mark threw him a stern look and his son faltered quickly.

"You're right", Steve said. He was slowly coming off his caffeine-dopamine-high, when he realized what he'd just dared to utter. Then he shook his head. "No, I don't even believe that myself."

It was late afternoon, when Jesse was in search for a pad of prescription formulas at the admission's desk. He'd just treated a little girl that had managed to get infected with streptococci and wanted to give the distressed mother a recipe to relief the cough that didn't bother the girl too much, but drove her mom insane.

As the doctor was looking through the scattered papers of hospital formulas, he suddenly found himself staring at next week's OR schedule. Mesmerized, his view remained on the paper that –to his enormous surprise and modest happiness- bore his name. At first he thought that maybe he'd eye sight trouble and was imagining it, but at the second sight his name was still there. _OR 3, removal of lung carcinoma, Dr. A. Bergman/Dr. J. Travis_

Jesse's eyes weren't mistaken, so his second notion was that this was a mistake. It _had to_ be a mistake. He couldn't even remember Dr. Bergman telling him…and then he did. A few weeks ago, when he'd still been in rehab, he'd bumped into Dr. Bergman on his way through the hospital corridors. They'd worked together a few times before and Bergman –a sleek, but very upright and good-natured guy- had promised Jesse quite effusively that as soon as he was able to work again, they'd perform a surgery together.

The young doctor had found it kind of awkward at that time. In other professions people would go out and have a beer after work to celebrate a colleague's return, while surgeons took the same kind of pleasure in cutting somebody open. But in that own weird way Jesse had decided to simply appreciate the gesture and had thanked Bergman for the hearty offer.

As the distinct memory returned, Jesse cursed himself. The fright was overcoming him again and he quickly put the schedule away so he wouldn't have to look at it. He tried to concentrate on finding this stupid prescription pad, but his thoughts kept drifting to that threatening sheet of paper. It was only his name next to a surgery procedure, but it surely felt like looking down the barrel of a gun to him.

The idea that Jesse had banned from his thoughts only a few hours ago forced its way back into his head and this time he just couldn't shake it off. This fear wasn't normal, not for him. Even as a student he'd never had problems with assisting in the OR, no matter how big the pressure had been, no matter how many derogatory remarks he'd have to listen to from the older, more experienced doctors or fellow students.

He'd always been confident enough to rely on his knowledge, his skills, his intuition. Now after years in the job he was offered this confidence from others, patients and doctors. Why couldn't he himself come up with it anymore? What had changed?

Lost in his musings Jesse didn't even notice he was now holding the prescription pad in his hands. He didn't know how long he been standing there and gazing at it before he snapped out of this trance-like state. He scanned his surroundings insecurely, but nobody seemed to have noticed his funny behavior.

It took him four attempts to fill in the prescription formula. First he spelled the name of the patient wrong, then the name of the antibiotic. On the third try he wrote the wrong date –the wrong year! - and on the fourth even spelled both wrong, the name of the patient _and_ the antibiotic. After taking a deep breath and conjuring to pull himself together, he got everything right on the fifth attempt.

He headed back to the curtain area, where he smiled an excusing smile at the coughing little girl and her mom. "I'm sorry this took so long, somebody misplaced the pad with the prescription formulas. This is for a mild antibiotic which should settle the cough. "

The young mother let out a sigh of relief. "Oh thank God, you're a hero", she grinned at her little daughter, "look, Lilly, we'll get this for you and you'll stop coughing in no time. Say thanks to the doctor!"

Lilly obviously had other things on her mind. "Does that mean I'll have to go back to school?" she inquired.

The final word on that matter hadn't been spoken yet, but Jesse still felt the need to say good bye and ambled back to the lounge, hoping to have a few minutes for himself. However, Mark and Amanda had already materialized there, aimed with coffee mugs for an early evening's chat. When Jesse entered, the two of them greeted him happily and he hoped to return the lighthearted 'Hello's' believably. However, the dark shadows around his eyes at least revealed that he'd had anything but a good night's sleep.

Mark and also Amanda watched this with concern. In the past days they had realized a slight change in his behavior. He was jumpy, always sort of nervous and seemed irritable. If this had happened during his rehab phase, they wouldn't have given it too much of a thought. Rehabilitation was always painful and frustrating, but Jesse had kept his head high all the way through it. They couldn't figure out what bothered him now that everything seemed to be fine again.

In an attempt to make him feel better Amanda thought she'd start the conversation on positive spirits. Little did she know. "Hey, I saw that you're scheduled for a surgery next week with Dr. Bergman. Doesn't it feel good to be back in the habit?"

Jesse felt his stomach turn and had to force all his sparsely left energy into a smile. "Yeah, sure…"

Amanda cocked an eyebrow. "Wow, you're certainly hiding your joy well…" she remarked wryly.

He shook his head. "Sorry, I'm just tired. I'm happy, I really am. I promise that as soon as I've had at least ten hours of sleep I'll do a dance on the table."

"Are you sure you're okay with it?" From the way the young man behaved Mark was slowly getting an idea of what might be wrong with him.

"With what?" Jesse asked, more brusquely than he'd originally intended to.

"Performing a surgery. If you don't feel good about it, leave it for some time, no one is going to blame you. You've been through enough in the past months, if you rather want to take it easy, everyone will understand…"

What Mark said sounded like songs of the Sirens in Jesse's ears: Very, very tempting. The realization of this made him even madder. He _wanted_ to work, he _wanted _everything to be back to normal, he _wanted_ to be a real doctor again. If only somebody could've guaranteed him that nothing could go wrong. If only he hadn't been so scared!

"Look, guys, I'm fine" he emphasized more than it was necessary. Then he saw their looks resting on him and knew he couldn't fool them as much as he couldn't fool himself. This was just too much, he had to get away. Hurriedly, he got up. "I think I'm gonna go home. Good night", he mumbled and then quickly left the doctor's lounge.

Amanda looked after him in bewilderment and then turned to Mark, who had this typically knowing expression on his face. "A penny for your thoughts", she muttered.

He stared at the door where Jesse had just vanished and then sighed. The past scene had confirmed what he'd been suspecting. "He is scared."

She frowned. "Of what? Performing a surgery?"

He simply raised his eyebrows.

Amanda couldn't believe it. "He is a good doctor, why would he be scared? Anyone, but not Jesse. He's never been scared of performing a surgery before…at least not so much that he wouldn't do it…"

Mark smiled at her friendly. Of course, she was right. Maybe, if he'd been younger, he wouldn't have been able to make sense of it either. But he knew some things about people, some things only experience would teach you. "The first real CPR I ever had to do was in Korea on a guy that had been wounded with shell splinters. There was blood all over the place, that man's ribs where breaking one by one when I tried to resuscitate him. After it was over I was sure I could never do any medical treatment again. I started shuddering when I only came near a Red Cross tent. That's the tricky thing about fear. You can't give your best if you are not at least a tiny bit scared of failing. But…"

"…it's worth nothing when it starts running riot, I know what you mean." Amanda puffed her cheeks in frustration. After all, she thought to herself, she should have known what was troubling her friend. As much as any human being she knew that feeling all too well herself. "The first time I went into a pathology lab I fainted. That smell, the bodies, it was horrible. I thought I could never go into one again, I never wanted to see something like that again in my life" she told Mark, almost laughing as she compared that experience to her present job. "If you'd asked me back then what the odds were that I'd become a pathologist, I'd have probably answered that I'd rather jump out of a plane."

"What did you do to overcome it?" Mark asked.

Amanda shrugged. "I told myself I had to. I wanted to be a doctor, so I didn't have much of a choice. We all had to overcome our fears. You had to, I had to, and so did Jesse. If we spent all of our time thinking about what could go wrong, we wouldn't be able to leave this room anymore."

"I bet Jesse knows this as well as you and I do. I think he just can't help it. Fear isn't rational…" Mark concluded.

"Well, how can we help him?" Amanda questioned, feeling sympathy for her friend. Also she couldn't help but thinking that with her way of starting the conversation she'd made it all worse.

Mark shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think we can, really. We can be there for him, but he has to realize for himself that he's no worse a doctor than he was before this whole mess. It's probably the most important part of his rehabilitation."

Amanda rubbed her hand through her face. "Will this ever be over?" Mark only agreed silently.

They didn't know that this very moment in another part of the hospital someone else was asking himself exactly the same question.


End file.
